A Line Drawn in the Soup
I'm sorry or is it excuse me
if I speak Russian with a distant
slight French accent.
The reason is my two aunties
with whom I spent a lot of time
back when I lived in Kiev
who spoke to me
only in that tongue. Well, OK,
that's also because a Napoleonic
general fell back and turned
his coat on the great Bonaparte
by marrying one of my great
grandmothers. Yet I assure you
I never thought I was a snob
until marrying my 4-generations
San Franciscan wife
who called me a French snob
whenever I'd be overly critical
of the Americans. Well, it's not
my fault if my tastes run along
the blue lines in the snow.
Not like some of our presidents
who sketch a crumbling red line
in the sand.
And yes I still like borscht
but not shchi.
That's where I draw the line.