And Crazy Writers

Arthur eats his galette ratatouille.

He does not look at the poem.

The waiter hovers nearby.

Why doesn't he read it?

To be honest, Arthur is annoyed.

Crêpe verte? asks Pierre-Louis, cutting a slice for the knowlesi.

Why is it green? asks the knowlesi.

Do you want it or not? asks Pierre-Louis.

I'll have it, says the rana.

He nibbles a corner.

It's spinach.

He spits it back out.

It lands on the poem.

Manners! says Quiet-tartus.

I'll get rid of it, says the knowlesi. It was kind of my fault.

That's what I call good manners, says Quiet-tartus.

Tant pis! says the rana. No one likes spinach.

I do, says Pierre-Louis.

The knowlesi hops onto the paper, and kicks the spit ball over the edge of the table.

Ants appear.

The knowlesi looks at the paper which now sports a greasy green blob.

Sorry your poem got spoiled, says the knowlesi.

It's not my poem, says Arthur, pouring himself a large glass of cider.

It was under your galette, says Pierre-Louis. Why don't you read it?

You read it, says Arthur.

It's called "Montparnasse".

Pierre-Louis reads it. He looks impressed.

Superbe! You frogs will appreciate this!

Read it to us! says the knowlesi.

Près d'une colline/ au dessus des catacombes/ les poètes declament/ Tout est fini! says Pierre-Louis.

We don't like it, says Quiet-tartus.

I like it, says the rana.

You're French, says the knowlesi.

It's not finished, says Pierre-Louis. Shall I read the rest in English?

Yes, says Quiet-tartus. 

But it is not over/ painters arrive, and crazy writers/ afterwards, all remains normal/ until these three frogs.

Pierre-Louis stops. How did you like it?

Are the three frogs us? asks the knowlesi.

I imagine so, says Pierre-Louis.

The frogs are cock-a-hoop. This more than makes up for the spinach.

Furthermore there are ants on the ground.

 And a worm. 

Who knows where that came from?