[audioplayer file=”https://admin.rattle.com/audio/MillerPon.mp3″]
I found myself nearly calling him
the other night when my car
had lost its senses, seven hours
in the shop and still not true
to its simple self.
I could see us sitting in Nipa-Pon
with cups of tea to our noses,
the young restaurant owner
cautious and inquiring
with an eyebrow, why so long?
Sometimes it’s the suppers
I miss, a man of too much soup
and a familiar fork with noodles,
the way you held the money gently
before giving it all away.
