fried rice

wall
to wall tables. red
tassels
fall from
the faux crystal
chandeliers.
a slew of ducks
being peeled
and filleted
made ready for pancakes
and plum
sauce.
hardly an inch
between
elbows and knees.
the smell
of fried rice,
fried fish,
fried vegetables
hangs in the still
air.
the muddled voices
loud
as one.
the umbrella drinks keep
coming.
the waiters in their
stiff red
coats singing happy
birthday in
Chinese.