Five kinds spicy
Three kinds bland
Two parts yellow to one part pink
Ninety-five percent jingle and five percent squawk.
Turn off the black plastic radio
And step outside to the night air.
You need a break from all this.
Yellow rice mounded on the back of a silver elephant
grains sliding down his face.
Orange and purple flowers
shredded as a garnish.
Outside, it is cool,
and the black puddles of motorcycle oil reflect the neon signs.
Across the street, the waterfront is rippled by breezes.
And further still, the neighborhood across the bay sleeps
and is untroubled by
three hundred more appetizers to go.