Croque [English translation]

When I get home,

she’s always telling me

that I look downright funereal.

She’s right about that,

I work at a cemetery

so I really can’t argue,

But I leave my sour expression in the mud-room

and sit down at the table.

I can’t let myself get distracted,

For I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.

I usually eat enough for four

and drink like a hole.

Then I return to the cemetery,

to try my best,

while my stomach’s full from my can of beer

and my croque-monsieur.

During the priest's speech

I start to feel empty again,

I can’t help thinking about my cutlets,

about my beef stew.

As the funeral wreaths come out,

I’m already starving,

My stomach’s the one in mourning,

at each and every burial.

Since there’s an empty corner

in this cemetery,

I’ve planted some potatoes

deep in the ground.

Still in my mourning clothes,

in between the services,

I quickly water my plants

before running back to work.

I scrape, weed, and hoe,

When to my surprise,

I find a nice maggot for my fishing hook.

I snatch up my prize,

and keep it safe for later in its own little box.

It’s so nice out today,

I think I’ll take my lunch outside

in my abandoned corner.

As soon as my break is over,

while the priest is sprinkling holy water,

I’ll be thinking of my steamed potatoes,

of my lovely beef stew.

And as the first drops fall,

On my elegant hat,

It’ll be my stomach protesting,

my stomach that moans.

Sometimes I take a bite of onion,

other times a clove of garlic,

and sometimes even a mushroom

looks like a nice repast.

It’s not enough

but I’ve got to make do,

because this priest’s speeches

are neverending.

The wind’s blowing away the clouds,

And by the grace of God,

I can see a huge wheel of cheese

up there in the sky!

The hunger’s climbing up my skull,

So bad that I could eat my hat,

a button off my jacket,

and even a poor little mousie.

I’m feeling a little faint,

like my soul’s about to tear apart

when I think of my stuffed chops,

or my croque-madame.*

This funeral’s gone on too long to bear,

so I arrange myself on the Earth,

and close my eyes.

• Artist:Thomas Fersen