by S. K. Kelen
I’m Popeye the Sailor
I pay my respects at the no-food cafe
there’s no meat or vegetable
the noodles have been spirited away
and the rice is second-hand,
cold from the previous customers’ bowls.
A boiled carp appears, it tastes like poison
its miserable lips frozen in a slight smile
I place a cigarette butt between them.
Last updated July 20, 2011