It's Not You... It's Me: A Brexit Breakup Poem

It’s not you, it’s me

 

I fell for you years ago, a coup de foudre,

With your Mediterranean looks,

Your art, your culture, your Latin moods.

I devoured you, from the hors d’oeuvres to the tapas,

From the fondues to the Swiss Roll.

We blended like fine wine, like Cointreau and ice.

But now we’ve got tangled, like spaghetti

Distance relationships are always nice.

City breaks just don’t seem to be enough.

The thrill of meeting another culture,

Slowly gets lost in mistranslation, in etiquette.

You flung me off my feet, our salsa classes

Left me breathless and a je ne sais quoi

Made me lose my sang froid.

I waited for your RSVP

Your French letter, just for me,

But you were waltzing by the Danube, 

We grew apart, I tired of French fries

And longed for chips, with steak pies.

Gave up pizza, lasagne, moussaka

And settled for a butty, chip barm.

Au revoir, ciao baby

Cul de sac

fini

 

◄ A Prose Piece...

F**ck It ►

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