fight poetry with poetry

Annika offers a poem titled "An ode to short recoil." While surfing desultorily earlier today, I happened upon a French-language poem by a small-breasted woman titled "Ode à ma poitrine," or "Ode to My Chest."

Here it is:

Ma petite poitrine.
Tu es si mini.
Que tu m'obliges même.
A parler de toi.
Pour pas t'oublier.

Ma petite poitrine.
Va trouver un mec.
Qui ne méprise pas.
Ton 85B.

Ma petite poitrine.
Ne sois pas inquiète.
Car je t'aime quand même.
Plus que mes petits pieds.

Ma petite poitrine.
Ne sois pas inquiète.
Car il t'aime quand même.

Autant que mes fesses.
Tous des obsédés...

In English, with great liberties taken in translation:

My little chesticles.
You are so teeny-weeny
that you force me to
talk about you
so that I don't forget you.

My little chesticles.
Go find a guy
Who doesn't despise
Your wee bitty A-cups.

My little chesticles.
Don't you worry.
I love you, anyway.
More than my tiny feet.

My little chesticles.
Don't you worry.
'Cause he loves you, anyway.

As much as my ass cheeks.
You guys're all pervs....

In the end, are we not all merely breasts that heave and strain mightily against the constricting brassiere of existence?


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