“Drawing Down, Dead Down”
Back at Christmastime,
I dined at midday,
On the winter solstice,
With my work colleagues.
We wanted Ramen,
But, begrudgingly settled for pub fare due to long lines at the Ramen place.
Pubs provide listless people lists of listless choices.
I chose the Shepard’s Pie,
infused with lamb protein.
When choosing from a listless list,
Authenticity seems important.
At least, in that moment.
But, fuck, it falls flat.
Just another pretentious misadventure,
Whereby, my dish provides all discomfort and no comfort.
The meat tasting as if simmered in a Dutch Oven with flakes of junkyard rusted automobile bodies.
Not my best chew.
Thank Christ for the bread. Slathered with as much butter as a teensie-weensie butter basket can provide.
I’ll wait in the Ramen queue for however long it takes.