They’re Eating Out

I was told that the following poem, written by Margaret Atwood in 1971 is very close to my own writing style. I wouldn’t be able to say that it is, or isn’t. You decide…

They Eat Out – by Margaret Atwood, 1971

In restaurants we argue
over which of us will pay for your funeral

though the real question is
whether or not I will make you immortal.

At the moment only I
can do it and so

I raise the magic fork
over the plate of beef fried rice

and plunge it into your heart.
There is a faint pop, a sizzle

and through your own split head
you rise up glowing;

the ceiling opens
a voice sings Love Is A Many

Splendoured Thing
you hang suspended above the city

in blue tights and a red cape,
your eyes flashing in unison.

The other diners regard you
some with awe, some only with boredom:

they cannot decide if you are a new weapon
or only a new advertisement.

As for me, I continue eating;
I liked you better the way you were,
but you were always ambitious.

2 comments on “They’re Eating Out

  1. DV8

    Rectification The person who told me what I thought was that it was like my style of writing actually rectified this later by saying that she could’ve heard the words come out of my mouth. Not so much that I write the same way Margaret Atwood writes.

    What about that?

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