Dream Hikes

A couple of hikes that I’d love try. The Routeburn Track in New Zealand, and the Kings Trail in Sweden:

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Steak (Fiction)

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Please take this poem in the good humour that was intended at the time of writing!

 

STEAK.

 

2017
19:57
Some central London steakhouse.

 

I should have known
Not to trust a man
Who proudly announces that he
Takes his steak
“Very well done”.

 

I like my men
Slightly more
Ashamed of their sins.

 

I want you
To have very well done steak
Behind closed doors
But in public to
Do the right thing
And have it medium.

 

Your steak is sat in front of you
Cremated
Grey
Tough
Dead in vain
Asking why you show
Such a humble creature
So little mercy
As you drown the very last
Of its beauty in
Peppercorn sauce.

 

Has no one ever
Had the decency
To tell you
You are eating your steak
The wrong way

 

You decide on your cut.

 

A
Rump steak
“Very well done”.

 

I wish you’d stop saying it –
Blasphemy.

 

I’m highly suspicious of you.
And that very well done steak.

 

*****

 

Mine is
The right way.
I roll up a pressed, pink
Silk sleeve
And reach for my steak knife

 

I can’t stop
Staring at your meat.

 

You’ve
Been unfair to the animal.
It’s a dry
Hunk
Of unpleasantry
You might as well have ordered
Goat.

 

Christ,
I’m a lady,
You can’t just
Casually order up a
Well done steak and
Expect me
Not to
Notice such a
Vitriolic
Vandalism

 

It’s sadistic,
We can’t be together when you treat a
Steak
Like that

 

There are only two types of people:
Those who eat their steaks like this
And
Those you can trust.

 

It’s a sirloin for me.
There is no other way

 

Well,

 

T Bone, debatable, but I like the
The fat;
The only one I don’t like is the rump
And
That’s what you’re having
And you’re having
It the wrong way and you’re also
Having
To saw at it just to get through

 

Like a
Heavy handed lumberjack to a
500 year old oak

 

Filthy.
Utter filth.
That knife (a Laguiole with a birch handle)
Is a work of art-
Watching you eat is like watching a man
Piss
On a Picasso

 

I want to help you
I want to tell you

 

About the feeling
When the knife slides through
Like a guillotine:
Ecstasy.
Hardly any resistance
Colour on the fat
Just enough juices
To be absorbed by a
Ready
Willing
Potato.

 

Slicing that rump
Should be
An act of subtle perfection like
Penetrating a woman.

 

Soft.
Beautiful.
The right way.

“Medium rare”.

 

Brown and then
Blushing and then
Pink and then
Red

 

We are talking about
The EU or something
But I don’t care about your opinions
Because of what
You did
To your steak.

 

Two thirds of the way through you’ve had
Enough
And I
Tentatively
Suggest
That you might bring your steak home
To use as a door stop.

 

After you finished
Flossing your teeth with your
Very
Well
Done
Steak

 

You ask me on another date
But it’s sushi.

You probably take your sushi well done too.

 

But,

 

That’s another poem.

 

-BF