by Saranyan BV
red dim-light from the dragon lamp,
bounces off my bone-china,
dragon breathes,
a piece of chewed-up bone,
head lost in green mint sauce,
I write the name of my love in green,
the black cat stares, white hollow eyes
scare me, I keep drawing black cats on
paper napkins,
at the end of the table near the porthole window
a cross-back arowana,
tub-trapped, six times gloated over-size since last spring,
fearless in captivity, fierce tail-slaps,
choosing what species of arowana
to own as a pet
can be a tough choice, they are all so cool right!
I keep drawing black cats with white eyes
pulling napkins from the sheaf
which stand like cones at the dispenser,
the place’s crowded, weekend people throng
I engage space for four,
waiters don’t mind –
I drink for six, never to
carry me home, brother!
aroma of chicken tandoor,
aroma of chicken lollipops,
tumblers clink in a friendly way,
rum spilt on old carpet, old smoke,
new smoke, old toilet, new one,
wine, dine and the fat woman
flaunts cleavage
when she corrects toe-rings,
toe-rings inside the sandals say she’s married,
bouncers here not sexy like guys in LA flicks,
this guy is gored walrus,
onion rings diced in beat-juice
dangle off my cutlery like Audi rings,
more drinks – more black cats,
more white eyes,
all napkins say ‘Sher-e-Punjab Since 1952’
as if aging is goodness,
“it’s a young one which salivates”, I tell
and call for the bill,
and favour the heady black cat at the raw edge
of the skinny-tissue,
to draw the round black eyes,
then, sign the credit-card payslip
after all the black cats, all the green sauce,
all the broken bones and the fat
woman for loners like me are gone.
Pic : Neptune Holidays
