Quickly’s Restaurant



How is a poem not like a restaurant review?

Kebab sits in a strip mall. Vietnamese nail joint. Boost Mobile.
Will you publish me? Anyone. Just make the words legible.

They upscaled from import-Persian kitsch, and I mourned.
For sophistication I refined my poem free of gut and love.

Kashk. And mysteries of walnuts, black olive, feta, cream.
I’m blind to the ingredients that make a poem work, or fail.

Then there was a night I dreamed of their red white bean soup.
I have dreamed poems. Words of such precision, delicious.

I note a waiter missing. Should deportation be my first thought?
Publications disappear, rejected by the universe. Autoimmune.



Always good to hear from friends

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s