Hello Ryfkah,
Yes indeedy, that Thelma is a ghastly person and her gastronomic choices are
probably a reflection of her inner soul. I've come to the horrid conclusion
that she may be an alter ego. How else to explain where this came from
(considering that I'm almost a vegetarian and relatively shy)? But I must
apologise for not taking time zones into consideration. The menu is
unpalatable for supper but unthinkable for breakfast.
I was heartened by Mary's comments about her Marla. Who are these beings?
We need a third - then we can create a contemporary first scene from
Macbeth.
bw
c
Shalom Christina
I thoroughly enjoyed this poem, vividly descriptive. I might drop the line
at the end telling the reader what s/he already has figured out from the
previous lines about the sheep. Of course brains and testicles really
threw
me off in this wee morning presun hour, but I liked the revolting image it
brought. Thanks for the graphic read.
kol tuv, Ryfkah
And how thoughtful of the waiter
to bring the bottle and a bowl
of fresh nuts. [Nevertheless,
poor show about the sheep (delete)].
In a message dated 8/31/01 5:08:45 AM, [log in to unmask]
writes:
<< T. Murphy's Diary
The Levant, 20.8.01
I am hailing a waiter
on a humid night in Byblos -
the restaurant The Times recommended
for mezze and arak.
I order grilled brains
and creamy sheep's testicles.
The waiter winces, 'Ah, Madame,
the testicles are off tonight.'
He suggests lentils and yoghurt.
'Are they puy?', I ask.
'Puy? Puy?', he replies
but I know he understands.
'Yes, puy ****** ', I insist
(a colloquial expletive
I save for emergencies).
'Ah, PUY. Oui, they are not puy.'
Why must they always resort to French
and wear such tight chinos?
But back to the menu. An apéritif?
Why not - I'll sample the arak.
What a charming place.
The journalist was right -
the arak is delicious - strong and yet
more delicate than absinthe.
And how thoughtful of the waiter
to bring the bottle and a bowl
of fresh nuts. Nevertheless,
poor show about the sheep.
christina fletcher >>
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