duck sauce

while waiting
for your kung pao
chicken to arrive
it occurs to you
that you have no
Chinese friends
except for the waitress
at the hunan
west and the bus
boy who smiles
and shakes your hand
like you are a long lost
uncle bringing
him a gift.
the waitress, who
was skinny once,
has been eating well
since the last
time you saw her.
the beef proper
has filled her ribs,
widened her hips. she
smiles as she
pours your tea
and brings you a bowl
of white rice.
you wonder what you
would say to them
if you met them out
on the street.
you have the feeling
it might be
awkward, but maybe
not. you finish
your meal and read
your fortune
while using the steamy
hot towel
to get duck sauce
off your face.
love will come soon,
it says.
be patient.