The Receptionist

The poem

France is the fairest land on earth, Lovely to heart's desire, And twice a year I span its girth, Its beauty to admire. But when a pub I seek each night, To my profound vexation On form they hand me I've to write My occupation.

So once in a derisive mood My pen I nibbled; And though I know I never should: 'Gangster' I scribbled. But as the clerk with startled face Looked stark suspicion, I blurred it out and in its place Put 'Politician.'

Then suddenly dissolved his frown; His face fused to a grin, As humorously he set down The form I handed in. His shrug was eloquent to view. Quoth he: 'What's in a name? In France, alas! the lousy two Are just the same.'