POETRY

Hold the Rice

A wok threw my apartment
down the stairs and out the door.
A wok threw my apartment
sizzling ginger. Heaven scent
prospective tenants by the score
seeking one more taste before
a walk through my apartment
where a scallion eater eyes
a wok through my apartment
where I sauteed last month’s rent
where her memory still stir-fries,
no. They’ll never realize
what a walk through my apart meant.

m.landers – 04/05