Friday, March 16, 2012

I have to stop asking why

I have to stop asking why.
The word escapes
faster than I can remember to stop asking
questions of futility
threaten the order of this place. I pretend
no one heard me, and go about the business of eating my rice.
I fool everyone with my mastery of chopsticks. Clack clack,
this grain is a willful fly, and it's his lucky day. Release...
I dropped a piece of boiled spinach on the freshly mopped tile,
and I could not stop admiring the contrast, despite almost blowing its cover. So
I moved my foot closer, a shoe hideout for the ministry of muscle. He appreciated
the gesture, while he gathered his wits. I am no one
and every one white female in the world. I am a prostitute
because no one assumes I am American, I am
the other white meat. So I smile and nod
in the most tasteful of ways
to keep them from losing their lunches,
and continue wowing them
with my chopstick sleight of hand.

1 comment:

  1. My compliments for your blog,I invite you in my photoblog "photosphera"


    Greetings from Italy