Homesickness in Birmingham (late morning)
…The smell of rice I missed the most.
I walked round Birmingham | my nose
aching for the familiar scent of it
—just 1 bowl of rice to ease the cramps of homesickness.
I cried in public for a bowl of rice.
For the sound of steam ejecting from a rice cooker |
the fresh whiff of it smeared through the house.
The next thing I know | some tubby white guy
is spraying a Gutai on my stomach
too soon & offering to make me a Pot Noodle as if
that might be compensation for Jin Ramen.
I told him it was fine—“I’ll do better
next time.” He never did.
He worked hard all the way to wedding bells
& I too lonely & concerned that if
I don’t take him I’ll end up a spinster…