“I am writing a poem,”
said Steve.
“It is called Francophones.”
Mike thinks this is strange
For Franco is in hot water
Not boiled for coffee.
Though you are the mayor of Gay Town
Girls should be eighteen, James.
Franco is no model for life, no Obama.
But what of burritos?
Mike wants one, so does Steve
Can you make a Burritobama?
Wrapped in that dangerous tortilla?
Only Franco knows

Mike knows, however,
That we can speculate.
“What if,” said Mike
“James Franco referred to himself as ‘the Franco?'”
Steve replied “I am the Franco.”
Mike: “No, I am the Franco!”

And then they stuffed socks in each others mouths
Wrestling in a pink house
Because all of these things
Make sense.

One thought on “Francophones

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