Forty years the same old lady
wafting spices betray her hidden stall
a busy gray place, a waking town
a nameless side alley, nondescript
inhabiting no specific century
clacking chopsticks every patron
slurping broth the very same way
smart girl from a city gathers quickly
how to find the best fast breakfast

hands bent deft sure crooked
like the failing wooden slab walls
an iron ladle, worn, experienced
an article of crafted utility
tending the blackened steampot
masses of long thin noodles
a customer’s coins, a face unfamiliar
two words tops, if any
minced porc garnish, red red chili

A life drab, featureless, or wasted
Or must we admit we know nothing

_______RS

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