Poem

The noodle lay limp over the brim of the bowl.
It looked tired and forsaken, soaked with soy.
Erica realeased a sigh from deep inside her chest,
Crispy and barbecued from the city.
Nudging the noodle, still staring at me with eyeless yearning,
Until it stuck to the pepper steak held in her twenty-five cent
Chop-sticks, she lifted it, looked at it with aversion,
Then bit down and
Chewed
And
Chewed
And
Chewed.
Then pushing away from the table,
Wiping the noodles black soy tears from the corner of her mouth,
She spoke about the terrible things happening in
Darfur.