On the phone just now, my mother used the word incontrafutably. "A WONDERFUL WORD BUT IT FAILS TO EXIST," I shrieked uncontrollably. "Or doesn't it?" she retorted. Jan, the lady in the Netherlands, agrees!
We're repairing the back Apartment to re-rent, But Topol, our carpenter, Was away all weekend. Today he explained How he had to go visit His grandfather In Massachusetts, 99 And a half, but lying In bed for three days,
And taking no liquid Or food. So Topol Brought him those Protein energy drinks, And got him to swallow A few sips. He recognized Topol with no problem, So to stir and cheer him up, He said to him, "Zaydeh, Sing us a song!" and prone
As a poplar tree, still Lying in bed, the old man Croaked, "Let me call You Sweetheart!" and Somehow my wife Knew this was exactly The song the old man Would sing, and I Wasn't so surprised Either, except at myself.
I broke my own iron rule: Don't go out for a meal Like a fool. “Oi, Topol, You ordered what?” Cuisine Siamese. As if a chicken That sits on its nest, The Siamese prepare Their food where they rest,
Then consume the hen: Pad Thai, the national dish. All I night I revolved Its wretched, unrelenting Aftertaste’s identity, then At dawn, eureka: boiled Feathers, stock reserved For the awful noodles,
Rancid gravy and sprouts. But how did I know? The truth of our misery Lurks in those celestial Eggs, the stars. The sky Is destiny’s hen, always Hatching new plans, Whether it’s blue or pale
Or rainbow baboon, And for which we are not To blame, according to Shakespeare and Plato: We are born knowing Everything. Love Is our chance to forget.
4 comments:
APARTMENT
We're repairing the back
Apartment to re-rent,
But Topol, our carpenter,
Was away all weekend.
Today he explained
How he had to go visit
His grandfather
In Massachusetts, 99
And a half, but lying
In bed for three days,
And taking no liquid
Or food. So Topol
Brought him those
Protein energy drinks,
And got him to swallow
A few sips. He recognized
Topol with no problem,
So to stir and cheer him up,
He said to him, "Zaydeh,
Sing us a song!" and prone
As a poplar tree, still
Lying in bed, the old man
Croaked, "Let me call
You Sweetheart!" and
Somehow my wife
Knew this was exactly
The song the old man
Would sing, and I
Wasn't so surprised
Either, except at myself.
Those protein drinks are disgusting--still, I recognize that Topol did the right thing here.
DESTINY’S HEN
I broke my own iron rule:
Don't go out for a meal
Like a fool. “Oi, Topol,
You ordered what?” Cuisine
Siamese. As if a chicken
That sits on its nest,
The Siamese prepare
Their food where they rest,
Then consume the hen:
Pad Thai, the national dish.
All I night I revolved
Its wretched, unrelenting
Aftertaste’s identity, then
At dawn, eureka: boiled
Feathers, stock reserved
For the awful noodles,
Rancid gravy and sprouts.
But how did I know?
The truth of our misery
Lurks in those celestial
Eggs, the stars. The sky
Is destiny’s hen, always
Hatching new plans,
Whether it’s blue or pale
Or rainbow baboon,
And for which we are not
To blame, according to
Shakespeare and Plato:
We are born knowing
Everything. Love
Is our chance to forget.
Siamese food? Are you from the past? Anyway, if you're looking for a friend to hate Pad Thai with you, CONTINUE YOUR SEARCH. Pad Thai is delicious.
P.S. Elegant Choice was born in Bangkok. Suck on it!
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