I Can Eat Spicy
This morning, I put on a silk shirt.
Last night, I shampooed my hair with persimmons
until the drain asked if I was bleeding
yellow from trying to clean my greasy perm.
If you close your eyes, black tea tastes just
as good as Coca-Cola, so I call the waitress over
by standing in the middle of a dim sum restaurant,
shouting my order loud enough
to break the silence that follows me
into every conversation with my grandparents.
Tonight, I’ll rest my head on scallion pancakes
and try to dream of dragons dancing over a fence.
Goodnight, my sixth-grade self.
We’ll play more games tomorrow
and maybe next time,
you won’t want to be the cowboy.