takeaway

tonight / beneath flags raised in
celebration we share a platter of
discount supermarket sushi, mentaiko
spread on torched salmon, as if salt
doesn’t exist on skin and in
temporal grief too.

this is new: other times
when we opt for healthier options we
avoid grocery shopping altogether and
hide under cardinal plastic roofs. you’d order
a wrap with unlimited toppings:
deposits of death, broken shells one day
and bits of coral another, lone scales next.

i stick to a side of tako balls.

we will drive up the aisles and into
tricorder skies, and your fingers will be
drenched in seaweed. behind
fridges our amber tongues will be
concealed, and we will prepare to bag
leftover tension in your pocket.

the freezers will offer dessert
and i will swear i never did have
a sweet tooth; your reply is
a cone dipped in milk and navy.

we will get breakfast
if time permits.

Benedicta J. Foo writes about lonely people and lonely places. Her work has been published in a number of Southeast Asian literary journals and anthologies; it has also won at the National Poetry Competition in Singapore.

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