Tuesday, November 18

the eat out

They eat out
by Margaret Atwood

In restaurants we argue over which of us will pay for your funeral
though the real question is whether or not I will make you immortal.

At the moment only I can do it
and so
I raise the magic fork over the plate of beef fried rice and plunge it into your heart.

There is a faint pop, a sizzle
and through your own split head you rise up glowing;

the ceiling opens a voice sings Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing
you hang suspended above the city in blue tights and a red cape, your eyes flashing in unison.

The other diners regard you some with awe, some only with boredom:
they cannot decide if you are a new weapon or only a new advertisement.

As for me, I continue eating; I liked you better they way you were,
but you were always ambitious.
"They eat out" by Margaret Atwood, from Selected Poems 1965-1975. © Houghton Mifflin


Anonymous said...

Very cool ... I'm sure I can hear someone chomping on celery in the background.

gfid said...

our maggie A has been doing the massey lectures on cbc radio of late - on the subject of debt. quite entertaining.

ANNA-LYS said...

Thanks for sharing!


nova-san said...

I need to eat out more often.