Home

 

Date

By Tom Meek (2008)

 

 

 

 

Peas, capers, diced carrots and white sinewy flesh, it looks like chicken pot pie. Red wine, no trace of the white or the martini, just the pate of a green olive and a pimento’s red tail. Duck pâté. I see it all. Couscous, rosemary and crème brûlée, you fed me well. All I did was sit there and gorge, you in your floral dress, me in my seersucker. This was to be the night I got to know you, but I was a pig and took it all, even you. Vomit.

 

 

 

Home or Stories