by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com
It’s time for some Pork Donburi with Miso Soup –
I think to myself as I cross the road.
The little Japanese eatery is now open late,
It’s a slice of urban chique in my sleepy-rural-small-town-hollow.
I wander in for value dinner, having spurned my regular Chinese haunt –
But only for tonight, just for a change.
For loyalty must be spliced with the spice of occasional dissent –
Less the proprietor becomes lazy toward you,
Less they take you for granted.
They must be regularly reminded you can still freely eat elsewhere.
Yes – in life there are always ‘games being played’,
& with age you realise games exist for good reason.
So, I order the Pork Donburi – nice ‘n’ spicey – with the miso soup, it goes down a treat.
On the way out I buy some cheap leftover counter sushi – the proprietor gives me some free chicken too.
I noticed that when serving the Korean man sang his words.
Now here-is-some-pork-donburi-for-yooou, now here is yooour change
I knew he was Korean, for I had asked him if he was Japanese, & he had corrected me.
I can’t remember how, but I ended up telling him that I was writing a novella.
I told him that ‘we writers’* often inject a real-life character we see out & about into our writing.
After I told him this, he said in child-like fashion (in a good sence) that he wanted to be put into my novel.
I told him that’s it’s mostly finished & the characters are set – but there was still a slim chance.
I warned that he’d to be interesting enough to be chosen to travel onto the pages of future fiction.
He said that he also sung Karaoke, aiming to gain my literary affections.
I said that that doesn’t cut it for a Novel, Novella or a Short Story – but he might make a poem.
“Poems are easy enough to make” I tell him.
He’s a good friendly guy, & his food is tasty & at good prices.
He probably works too hard yet everyday he still wears a genuine smile.
Which can’t be easy over the long term especially so with silence-loving-small-town-folk.
It’s only fair that I spend at last fifteen minutes whipping him up a free poem –
After all he’d given me some free spicey chicken, hadn’t he?
It’s a fair trade – spicey-but-still-tasty-leftover-sushi for some personalised-slice-of-life-poetry.
Plus, he’ll get a bonus smile next week when I read him his poem in person.
And if he surprisingly asks me:
“Praytell – why did this poem cross the road?”
I’ll know he’s not really the-singing-Korean-chef-with-a-Japanese-eatery-behind-the-counter-of-a-small town at all –
…perhaps something far far more sinister or perhaps even beautiful**
All-in-all I would summarise all this as the following spinning-newspaper-tabloid-headline:
“Deadbeat Poet Says Frivolities At The Asian Eateries Are Less Than Frivolous”.
*Yes, it sounds like I had my head up my own ass – I agree with you oh reader.
** when read in public this must be said with a theatrical nod, indicating an ulterior motive may be involved.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 