POEM: kung pao tofu at the lost love lounge

kung pao tofu at the lost love lounge

the counterman says his name is Johnny
his soft down-under accent
suggesting a curved and interesting path
to this backroom Vietnamese restaurant
hidden away in a corner bar on Franklin

my bahn mi has a kick I didn’t expect
my tongue burns as I send text after text
trying to convince her to drop everything
hop the first south-bound bus and join me
here where the blue door leads to a garden
shielded from the street by a narrow alley
with a weatherbeaten wooden gate

two cats are prowling the stone path
keeping watch over the goings-on
wondering at my unannounced arrival
they eye me suspiciously as if to ask
for some proof of my good intentions
but all I can offer is a Ziploc bag
full of black cherry tomatoes pulled
just the day before from the garden

the cats don’t want them so I smile
leave the interview empty-handed
pull the blue door shut behind me
sit shirtless on the couch, pecking away
at these words that fall short
of meaning what I need them to mean

2 July 2012
New Orleans