Sushi

By Mark W. Swarthout

Gray skies drop cold rain on my hair.
The door opens outward.
Currents of warm air move in its wake.

Narrow aisles filled with wondrous items.
Exotic odors color the air.
Strange characters mark the packages.

Anticipation clouds my judgment.
My mouth begins to water.
My eyes are bigger than my stomach.

Stacks of paper with neat columns.
Red ballpoint pens in a cup.
Patience rules the small crowd waiting.

The delight of joining an old friend.
The introduction to a new one,
Appreciative company in a peaceful place.

Hot green tea in a Styrofoam cup,
Pumped from a thermos.
Small fragments swirl at the bottom.

A small wooden tray artistically arranged.
Fat green cylinders in rows.
Pink leaves of ginger piled at the edge.

Soggy crispness impedes my teeth.
Soy drips down my chin.
Cold flavor explodes in my mouth.

Wasabe climbs my throat, my eyes water.
Joy echoes around my heart,
While the burn sears into all my sinuses.

Satisfaction floods throughout my soul.
My stomach is full, bloated.
A good place, this sushi bar at Noble Fish.