sushi order

they are intense, these
men behind the counter in white
uniforms,
red bandanas wrapped around
their spiked black hair.
they look more ready for war
than making sushi.
you can't see their hands,
but their shoulders
and arms keep moving from
side to side, angry it seems
at these fish, these shrimp
and avocados,
cutting, dicing, rolling
seaweed and rice.
you don't even know what
you ordered, but made a point
to say no eel.
something spicy would be nice,
you told the waitress,
something no longer
wiggling with life.