The episode reminded me of when my wife and I flew to Paris from Sweden, on Swedish airlines (SAS). We landed in Paris, but the planes were in quite a queue, so we had to wait out on the tarmac for a long time. The Swedish pilot was a bit miffed and came as close as a polite Swede could to saying something snide about the French. I also remember that two things were going on at the time that made Swedes nervous because both meant that Sweden would have to get closer to mainland Europe and be less autonomous. A bridge from Sweden to Denmark was being proposed and debated, and Renault and Volvo were thinking about merging. The former ultimately happened. The latter deal fell apart, chiefly because the Swedes didn't trust the French, I'm afraid.
In any event, as our plane sat on the tarmac, we looked out the window, and on the rather lush grass between runways were . . . many rabbits! It was quite a humorous site. Huge planes, small rabbits. Ridiculously, we were sitting in an aluminum tube, and we had paid for the privilege of doing so, while the rabbits, who had no bank accounts, were enjoying themselves, outside, near Paris, munching away in the fresh air. Out of this experience came the following poem:
French Rabbits
Rabbits greeted our airplane in Paris.
On grass between tarmac strips, they
looked like brown pockets plump
with tobacco and francs. They
moved cautiously, as if we
were hungry or German. Some
of them were shopkeepers, worried
and energetic like Balzac’s people.
Others were grand in their
miniature arrogance, standing
on hind legs like DeGaul, looking
down and up at once, saluting the sun.
Copyright 2006
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