The Song of Lunch by Christopher Reid is a graceful and intimate narrative poem that tells the story of an unnamed middle-aged London publisher who meets his former lover for lunch at a Soho Italian restaurant they once frequented, fifteen years after their romantic relationship ended. As the hour unfolds over wine and the setting drifts between remembered nostalgia and present awkwardness, the poem captures the quiet ache of regret, aging, lost ambition, and the passage of time through richly textured language, sharp observations, and vivid imagery of a restaurant and a city that have both changed. Its compact form reads like a dramatic monologue in verse, blending wit, elegiac sadness, and precise, nuanced portraits of people and place. It was first published in 2009 and later adapted into a celebrated BBC television film starring Alan Rickman and Emma Thompson that brought Reid’s poetic voice to life on screen.
What moved me most about The Song of Lunch is how it feels like eavesdropping on a moment fully lived, not just a meeting, but a lifetime of dreams, choices, and missteps distilled into a single meal. The narrator’s interior monologue is both deeply personal and universally resonant: he is someone who loves language yet yearns for what he cannot retrieve, someone who watches a beloved part of his life slip into memory while trying to make a here and now that feels real.
The sensory richness of Reid’s lines, the smell of wine, the ambient hum of Soho, even the white tablecloths that seem to surrender pulls you into that lunch with remarkable intimacy. Though the narrative seems simple (just two people at a table), the emotional depth is profound, tracking how nostalgia and regret can flavor a conversation as intensely as Chianti.
My rating: 4 out of 5 stars. I’m giving The Song of Lunch four stars because it shines with elegant precision, emotional honesty, and poetic mastery that rewards close reading, especially if you enjoy lyric prose that doubles as subtle drama.
It made me feel the weight of a single moment as though it were a life, and left me thinking about how longing and memory shape who we are. If you’re curious about poetry that feels alive, cinematic, and deeply human, this slender but resonant work is a beautiful, memorable experience.