The Christmas Day Lunch Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The Lunch
We had Christmas lunch at a hotel, so posh floors shone like
a mirror you could not look down when passing a lady
People sat in little groups whispering, and the silence was
deep when some dropped a spoon.
Festive decoration was absent- we are adults- the music was
subdued the food was good but bland they were catering for
the English peculiar taste in insipid food that has no story to
tell it felt as being a guest at a wake
It annoys me if waiters are too attentive they, not bloody slaves
and should not behave like fucking sycophants. I like French waiters
they hate you and cannot hide it but nevertheless serve you with
Gallic elegance
In moments like this when everything is soo civilised, I like to
get up and make a Nazi salute just to shatter this inauspicious
politeness that shuts out anyone not belonging to their fraternity.
We left early was driving around sat in a park, enjoyed the sunlight
and everything was right with the world