Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Les Bulot

in my dream i am back at les bulot
cautiously trawling the fish soup
afraid of probing its depths and
finding myself hopelessly out of
my comfort zone wishing i had
opted for the sirloin steak
which you are now pushing
around your plate with the silver
cutlery making blood and cream and
the lissom pomme-frite mingle
sensually on the bone china plate
and now you are laughing at me
because i have found sand in
the bottom of the bowl and you
say that it shows it is authentic and
i push the bowl aside and sip the
wine and breathe in the salty air
and suddenly i am aware that this
is a dream and my heart breaks a
little inside as it does each time
i leave les bulot and return to
the stark fire i now inhabit alone.

StuBStuart Buck is a poet and writer living in North Wales with his wife and two children. His poetry and prose have been widely published in journals such as The Stare’s Nest, The Bitchin’ Kitsch and Erbacce Journal. He has been a featured poet in both FIVE magazine and poetrykit. When he is not writing or reading, he enjoys juggling, cooking and ambient music.

Categories: Poetry, Themed, UK Poets

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1 reply

  1. Rich, like the sirloin; authentic, like the fish soup–and the stark fire.

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