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.
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