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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.

© Bicoastal Review 2025. All rights reserved.

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