USA

quan_yi@hotmail.com

Dim Sum and Then What?

George says, it all seems like a scene

from Blade Runner--Deckard’s

noodle bar in the curved and tiled future

where Oriental food is served

like White Castle burgers

and the counterman speaks a combination

of several romance, Germanic,

and Oriental languages.

George and I are at a restaurant

overrun with sprawling

extending families and children

swarming about and crawling

under tables, rosy-cheeked

waitresses in hair nets

pushing carts of nothing

but hors d'oeuvres--sweet

or savory, hot or cold, deep-fried,

steamed, boiled, or stir-fried--

in an assembly line of parts

rolling out from the steamy kitchen.

We point and hover, claiming

our little treasures without knowing

what they are and not really

wanting to--webbed claws

of strange beasts

or translucent skinned finger

snacks filled with mystery meat

that could be dangerous

shellfish, but I’d rather die

in ER than ask another Chinese

about something I should know.

Can you imagine a parade

of Betty Crockers carrying

trays of toothpick-impaled

weenie dogs, Jell-O jigglers,

and other bite-sized

delicacies, parceled out

three to a plate? George thinks

it’s a quaint Chinese ritual

having to put the appetizer

on your plate and fight

the damn thing

with your chopsticks

while the regular meal

never arrives.

Letter to My Therapist

Bruno,

After therapy I decided to celebrate my last night before the arrival

of my in-laws from the Midwest. I had four slices of pizza with extra

extra cheese & olives & a bottle of wine. I should have had two slices

& maybe half a bottle. Of course my in-laws had to arrive early.

Mom & Dad saw me drink the wine rather fast. I was squealing

into their faces "We have to go out for hash browns on Saturday."

I screamed "Oh my God" a lot using the name of the Lord a lot.

Then I showed off the DKNY jeans I got for two dollars at Goodwill,

dancing around for Mom. Afterwards I proceeded to run out & come back

in the front door several times, testing out their keys to our house.

This morning I got up & can feel again. I’m optimistic about life.

Wolfe asked over the phone, "How late did you stay up with my folks.

I heard the door slamming a lot." I don’t know. I was having a great time

& the world didn’t end. I shouldn't worry. I can leave you a voice message

if I'm having problems. I can say to myself, I can ask for help instead

of pretending that everything’s OK, OK?

Bambi

My Therapist’s Reply

Bambi,

Sounds good. Enjoy yourself. Life is not a dress rehearsal.

Bruno

Little Guy and George

At the Pets Unlimited shelter, he jumped into my lap,

so we added him to our small family. Little Guy must

have come from the home of a drunk with big feet.

There are issues he’s working out. Little Guy

scrambles under the bed when George zips his jacket

for work, and he doesn’t know what real fish is.

He sniffs baked salmon and dances around it, but

doesn't eat. Maybe it’s just an air freshener to him.

When it’s late, he drags his dust mop tail down

the hall. George tries to pet his stomach, and he bares

his werewolf fangs and cries like someone is breaking

his bones. George kisses him, My Little Man, My Own

Black Bear, and gives up part of his pillow, coaxes

him under the comforters. Little Guy gives George

big head butts in the bathtub, "Get out of there

before you drown." These days, Little Guy wakes up

four times a night to drape his body over George’s.

Once George opened his eyes to Little Guy

on his chest, purring and pawing him on the forehead.

George said, Thank God, I wasn’t on acid.

© All Copyright, Priscilla Lee.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.