“Her Chinese Restaurant” — A Poem
It was a sweet fresh abloom spring,
When she was about to swing; from her bed to Beijing
Always with a beauteous rickshaw
Becoming a woman in red dress who plays jigsaw
She was possessed! They said;
Nothing they knew that she actually fled.
It was a bleak concrete erection; painted yellow yet fade
Filled with amenities who screamed for aid.
Sounds of the noise from wok that recurrence
Until mankind no more thought of the occurrence
And more, the old radio with its ancient Mandarin singer;
Singing the same old songs until they linger.
It was a perfect childhood reminiscence
That lots of people forget about its existence.
From wonton soup to dumpling
Made her beautiful fat mouth drooling
The oily odor from the authentic dingy room
Aroused her as if she’s a hungry womb.
It was bliss for her who stays in the attic.
Spares all of her story fragments; appear in sporadic
She is possessed! They exclaim
None realizes they make her inflame
Then she goes to see the Qing Dynasty
A scene for her; away from sobriety.
