RESTAURANT Poem by Micha Hamel

The fish stocks dictate no monkfish
so I choose an ostrich steak instead.

A ladybird saunters right to the tip
of an orange drinking straw.

A mouse shoots under the swing doors
through to the white steaming kitchen.

Eagerly knife and fork lie beside
an ivory-coloured square plate.

Bluebottle covers an unparalleled
course past lamps and tables.

‘Roasted dodo, sir?' the waiter
asks in surprise. The lobsters in the

aquarium heave a sigh of relief.
My drink is imitating a lime.