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Foie Gras (Sonnet) by Christof

Ring damn you ring and let it be Some telesales rep or marketeer And let me pick up the funnel and pour My warm scorn into their captive ear Until they burst or I burst first. I'm grey before my day and lumpen from fear That I'll never again strike the winning runs Or shag the blonde I once lived near. There's me and my office and the filleted men Who work for me, shrink from me, call me their friend And the blank night sky where there once was a screen For the playing and playing of favourite dreams There's me and my office and the pulsing release Of the torture of geese.

lmp 22-Jun-07/7:38 AM
lots of good stuff here: "warm scorn". "lumpen from fear", "filleted men". is it a British saying to call a telephone handset a funnel or is that an expression of the poem. if the latter, another good one.

what i get from this is a lonely businessman, pining for his youth with drive-in theatres, sports victories, and of course, shagging. all the trappings of success without any real substance.

didnt quite get the torture of geese unless it is a reference to hearing a novice playing bagpipes.




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