Sunday, 17 November 2019
The kitchen clatter. The cackle of Asian voices. What Marco Polo discovered (or did he introduce them?) is being shared. The waiter knows me from previous visits. “Good morning” he says; it is evening. I point to my items on the menu, recognising the pictures. Ramen and fried rice (is it ever ‘ordinary’). The food arrives and I remind myself not to rush. I am alone this evening with nothing to do:
with every mouthful
a long story
this noodle bar
on silent hooves white horses gallop home from the turbulent sea
on a branch mating pigeons one moving sideways **** two pigeons mating a shower of leaves
coronavirus I quarantine my fears Accepted (2020) to Frogpond **** no problem finding a seat coronavirus **** isolated wish...