Imagine a theatre, mid-morning, back stage.
Wardrobe are ironing the costumes, a chippy checks a flat
and out front a lone Hoover hums around the table legs
picking up what's left of last night.
This is what it's like.
Boxes left at the door,
the cockles came at two, the oysters at four.
The tables are given skirts
like girls at a prom dress fitting.
Tucked in,
ready to start again.
The Sommelier spits
a boxer's mouthful of red,
lays down the glass
and picks another,
holds it to the light
like a carver,
turning his work in the sun.
Back in the kitchen,
9 am and prep begins.
No longer the off stage corridors of a theatre,
but now a submarine.
Radio on and ten working in here,
at their stations -
Garnish
Hot starters
Meat
Fish
Mousses
Wardrobe are ironing the costumes, a chippy checks a flat
and out front a lone Hoover hums around the table legs
picking up what's left of last night.
This is what it's like.
Boxes left at the door,
the cockles came at two, the oysters at four.
The tables are given skirts
like girls at a prom dress fitting.
Tucked in,
ready to start again.
The Sommelier spits
a boxer's mouthful of red,
lays down the glass
and picks another,
holds it to the light
like a carver,
turning his work in the sun.
Back in the kitchen,
9 am and prep begins.
No longer the off stage corridors of a theatre,
but now a submarine.
Radio on and ten working in here,
at their stations -
Garnish
Hot starters
Meat
Fish
Mousses
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