The peanuts in the Kung Pao Chicken crawl like beetles.
Even the pan-fried noodles burrow through the sauce like legless lizards.
Bean sprouts graft onto water chestnuts,
form a new species of plant.
Goldfish from the Buddha’s feet swim in and out of the restaurant,
greeting the regulars with orange lips.
Customers ignore the grinning catfish among seared vegetables. He is too precocious.
The Peking Duck complains about the temperature and the mood lighting.
It is too dark to be eaten properly.
Evenings when the food is fresh
prove the best time for fortunes to come true.
Published in Comstock Review, Fall/Winter 2005