The Banana-Rice Lunch
by

Mocking smiles always bloomed
in my ceramic plate.
I kneaded a ripe banana
and blended it with the boiled rice.
But that was a repulsive lunch
for others.
I was content
in my vegetarian world.
Colorful candies dampened me
with delight.
My ma and grandma used to compel me
to eat the roast rooster
or the fried mackerel.
An inferiority thorn began to grow
at my dining table.
I tasted sardines
through nausea.
Meat was tamped.
Sensitivity was a splinter.
I chewed,
forgetting the aching image of the lamb.
I was conditioned
to the proto-parent diet
(a harmful transformation).

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