Brian Bruso
Tuna Crudo
Flesh stripped bare,
shaved into wafers
that dissolve on the tongue
with Alentejo olive oil
and polyhedrons
of freshly flaked
flor de sal from
the flats of Algarve.
Packed with oil,
tightly laid in tins
to be divvied unto
seaside petisco shacks.
Taken with? pâté, chickpea
salad, or a cocktail
fork, straight up.
Each sea-drenched
Moorish soupçon savored.
Anchors dropped in memoriam,
reserve a port glass
to toast the great beasts
these untethered ships
brought to market,
entrenched with
nameless hollow hulls
and buried by decades
of neglectful lore.
Brian Bruso found poetry early in life, before culinary arts consumed him the next 30 years, whilst that voice continually whispered in his head, “be free, write again.” Recently published in Burningwords, Rathalla, {trampset} and Hibiscus lit mags.