Vietnamese Restaurant

VIETNAMESE RESTAURANT September afternoon in Saigon, Delicately-embroidered decorative Cloth-pieces on furniture, From the French imperial era. Scary African wood-carvings, And my little girl frightened to even look At some of the wooden masks. Table in the near dark: a comfort away from The glaring heat of the street. Warm damp air wafting in from the delta filled With fragrances of all sorts of fruit, Some from local farms - huge strawberries And luscious raspberries, and sunny bananas. Some from much further afield, the promise of Oranges from Brazil and mangoes from Cayenne. Coffee being brewed and drunk in adjacent cafes Was an additional reason for us to sniff the breeze deeply. From inside, lip-licking aromatic hints Of Vietnamese deep-fried food filled our nostrils. Our hunger dissolved in the intoxication of wok-steamed pineapples, Made us ravenous to explore the small dishes on offer. Delicate French bowls and delicate delta prawns, And small fried rolls of fish, unidentifiable but mouth-juicy: All fingers had to be licked repeatedly To get the last drop of flavor, Giving her Dutch-courage to peep at the masks Through tightly-closed fingers over her eyes.