The Carving of the Pheasant
Hush. The show is beginning.
A solitary candle flickers in the darkness.
Heady on the air, anticipation is palpable,
The feeble glow illuminates the features of your hostess tonight.
Conducting an orchestra with her ladle.
This ballerina steps into the spotlight,
Soup tureen at hand, feet a blur,
Raucous cheering and roaring fills the theatre.
The adoring audience tosses roses to her.
Rose heads are scattered at intervals around the stage,
With blue petals?
A parade of pirouetting servants stream into the room with the beef,
On the stage, a single feather settles.
With a resounding screech a flamboyant bird
Launches itself at the audience,
A collective gasp echoes around the theatre,
And, in an act of defiance…
The bird lands upon the stage,
Exhibiting its plumage,
Tossing its tail feathers,
Before its image dies away.
A sculpture, centre stage, steals the attention of the theatre-goers.
Yes, this is none other than a hen’s nest…
An ornament which so happens to be edible.
A hush befalls all the guests.
An outraged gentleman stands up, face puce,
What kind of witchcraft is this?
And then the candle goes out,
Every member of the audience with their breath baited, sits.
The ringmaster steps before the stage,
With an exaggerated flourish.
Holding above his head; a monstrous knife,
And in an act requiring the upmost deftness and courage…
Trembling under the eyes of his sophisticated company,
He plunges it into the breast of the awaiting pheasant on a porcelain platter
Like a sculptor engraving deep gullies into stone.
The audience exhales, bursting into applause and chatter.
It is apparent that the exotic bird has returned, inanimate, to its porcelain plate,
When the dining room is lit up in a faltering glow.
The cheering has died down, but there’s a singular shout,
Bravo!
By Iona Campbell
Worcestershire Young Poet Laureate 2024/5
Keen writer, artist and musician
This poem was inspired by ‘Dr Wall’s Dinner’ displayed at the Museum of Royal Worcester.