In No Particular Defiance

This poem is from

A series of poems from and about the Chinese restaurant beside my apartment, By Iain Marlow

In No Particular Defiance

This end of an urban tempest,
A respite, amid blighted towers
Where illegalities and culture thrive,
A young woman de-skins peas.

In the restaurant of her family,
The whole world: Encompassed,
In noodles, vegetables, pork, and beer.

The mother, cropped, short hair and
Smiling – beckons, half-frantically,
Table # 4 is low on rice,
And with thinning patience, to boot.

Father the cook, and son the –
Apprentice – swish eggs and
Fish and peanuts, and dart out
Into the alley outside, for

Ingredients: new amidst old, over and
Over, and still – she de-skins peas.
As homework sits, perhaps, un-started –
But who knows, but she’s not fast

Enough for her father, though the
Restaurant is nearly empty,
And gusts of humanity blow,
Past the door; some enter and

Some live onwards – in no particular defiance.

Now she sits, elbows on table
Staring: Blankly – into
An uncertain future, but more likely
Thinking of a boy, cute, with

Cropped hair – like her mother.