I first tried an oyster at a seafood bar in Melbourne,
and it jarred in that far-away place.
Oysters, so intimate, were meant to find me at home,
And they did.
In the crowds of Borough Market,
A barnacled Titan plunged his pickled hand into ice-water,
And presented me with a real beauty;
Lustrous, mother of pearl shell,
And at the centre,
A sea-fairy, glittering,
Living, existing for consumption.
A tickle of tabasco, and down he went,
An ocean in my mouth.
I could have been a mermaid
at Neptune’s banquet;
So briny and life-giving,
My mollusc revelation.
An image for you;
A man and a woman, very much in love
Feast on two dozen at an oyster and porter house,
also at the market.
Glowing in the light of a dripping white candle,
They sit at the corner of the counter,
A perfect white wine clinking in their glasses.
Two years ago, an anniversary oyster-fest,
Look how happy we are…
This is the best table in the house.
Now, if we returned,
We might complain about people pushing past,
And the arrogant city-types, drunk and dropping crab shells,
But…That night, it was just us, though busy, it might have been deserted,
Our eyes and the slide of the oysters down our eager throats
Made promises, later to be kept.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
I first tried an oyster at a seafood bar in Melbourne,
and it jarred in that far-away place.
Oysters, so intimate, were meant to find me at home,
And they did.
In the crowds of Borough Market,
A barnacled Titan plunged his pickled hand into ice-water,
And presented me with a real beauty;
Lustrous, mother of pearl shell,
And at the centre,
A sea-fairy, glittering,
Living, existing for consumption.
A tickle of tabasco, and down he went,
An ocean in my mouth.
I could have been a mermaid
at Neptune’s banquet;
So briny and life-giving,
My mollusc revelation.
An image for you;
A man and a woman, very much in love
Feast on two dozen at an oyster and porter house,
also at the market.
Glowing in the light of a dripping white candle,
They sit at the corner of the counter,
A perfect white wine clinking in their glasses.
Two years ago, an anniversary oyster-fest,
Look how happy we are…
This is the best table in the house.
Now, if we returned,
We might complain about people pushing past,
And the arrogant city-types, drunk and dropping crab shells,
But…That night, it was just us, though busy, it might have been deserted,
Our eyes and the slide of the oysters down our eager throats
Made promises, later to be kept.
