Tse’s Noodles

By | 13 May 2024

cantonese scribbled on scallion windows,
greasy windows, almost steamed-up
windows, but the special is always
very special — ‘Sichuan Pork Dumpling
Noodle/ 麻辣餃湯面’. and because
you and i live in this island
we are not from, this shitty island
with shit wind, we move
to an inside table, fresh bleach
on fake wood. our bowls of noodles land
after you list the best places to eat in your
faraway city: your mum’s, the best place for
Shabu-shabu, and a Tokyo
neighbourhood with Chinese restaurants.
i wonder if your doctor mum cooks better
than my cleaner mum. what
a beautiful day for lunch? half rain half
the sound of your smile folding. i ask
if you went running this morning,
you reply that you just have no other clothes.
today Mr Tse’s noodles are less salty.
i let silence sit in between your noisy slurps,
my clumsy chopsticks, the limping footsteps
of Mr Tse’s bad knee.
i don’t think i can talk poetry here.
i eat half my heart before i even get to
my scallion oil chicken noodles.

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