In Which I Write a Fake Sonnet

SONNET* FOR A SCARY CAFETERIA WOMAN
written on the occasion of our departure from Jules Ferry Hostel in Paris

You guard your baguettes as if they were crown jewels
You scar for life all who do not follow the rules.
Until nine in the morning you have infinite power
We dare not complain, though the juice is quite sour.
At eight thirty a.m. we creep out of bed
Repeating our prayers twice, thrice in our heads.
"Oh please let me not offend her today
Oh please let her count'nance be sunny, not gray.
For each euro be costing me 1.5 dollars
And I don't want my wallet to grow any smaller.
So I'd like to eat in the hostel today
Oh please don't let her turn me away."

We descend with knees knocking into your Dark Domain
(If you served anything but food we'd really refrain)
Those who have made it beam us sincere good luck wishes
They eat quickly and quietly and hand you their dishes.
If they linger too long they will regret it for sure
You will yell at them in French as they run out the door.
Oh people will think I am exaggerating
"That May," they will say, their expressions berating.
"Making mountains out of molehills is what she does best
Everything's a battle, a legend, a quest."
To the doubters I say, "Aha, I know I can be
Somewhat reliant on hyperbole."
But if you come to Jules Ferry I think you will come
to realize that really I have only begun.

Oh scary cafeteria woman! You strike fear in my heart
More than prelims and spiders and nude fat woman art
More than the dark or getting lost or too much sangria
More than wasps and bad breath and cold diarrhea.
You screeched at me when I tried to get another baguette
"Only two!" you kept French-ing but I hadn't had the second yet.
I tried to explain, but alas, to no avail
With echoes of "Deux!" I quickly turned tail.
The next day a boy behind me carried only a bowl
for applesauce, but he never reached his apple-bound goal.
"What are you doing" you barked, but French were the words
"Tray! Tray!" but "Blah! Blah!" was all that he heard.
He stood there and stared and tried to point at the 'sauce
But you'd have none of it, so, at a loss
He dropped the bowl on the counter, he turned and he fled
To this day he is probably still scratching his head.

Oh scary cafeteria woman! Today I sing your praise
A toast to you and all your reign of terror days.
Your gimlet eye! Your terrible swift sword! Beneath your gaze we quail
We try to outsmart you but we will always fail.
I see your hairnet bobbing and my throat, it starts to close
When I ask you for orange juice I focus on your nose.
Your fleshy arms, your quivering chin, your always lowered brow
In JF I lived in fear but I kind of miss you now.
In Cite Sciences** the ladies stand but we might not be there
They look not at us nor at themselves but hold a vacant stare.
We take our food and lay down our trays and eat and it is fine
But now there's no threat, no surprise, no rush of 'drenaline.
The French barrage, the massive chest, the fierce growl in your throat
The breakfast here just doesn't hit that adventurous note.
Besides I know your secret, the one you hide so well
Don't worry, 'sides this poem, I will never tell.
The day you kicked that poor boy out, and put him in your file,
is the day I saw you crack a--well, I saw you crack a smile.

*not in sonnet form
**second hostel we stayed at in Paris