the fortune cookie

you have dinner
with your friend betty.
you order the crispy
shredded beef
and she has the shrimp
with hot peppers.
after pushing away
your plates and
wiping your mouths and
hands with hot
steamy towels
she unfolds
her fortune first.
she breaks open
the dry cookie
with a twist of
her fingers, nibbling
on the sweet shards
of the pale cookie.
what does it say,
you ask her,
while biting open
the plastic around
yours.
it says, she says
with wide eyes,
that I will find
the love of my life
soon, and that he will fit
my hand like a glove.
it will be a life long
love affair that
will be the envy
of others. she unravels
the fortune, which is
like a small scroll
falling down into
her lap.
there's more, she
says. this love will
be unlike any other.
poets will write
poems about it.
artists will try to
capture its beauty,
but won't come close.
musicians will write songs
and sing about this
love. wow, you say.
some fortune. what does
yours say, she says,
beaming. you snap
open your cookie and
look at the little sliver
of white paper. you squint
and read the small
print. it says,
be careful around shellfish.