My last tiger prawn
was easy payment for the second
glance, the extra words, the time
to soak in sounds
from a voice and accent
dry like wine
and crisp.

I had to search for French,
scrape the slightest bits
from childhood and tourist visits
into something suitable.
In typical American fashion,
overstatement leaps to mind
and lips, and “beaucoup” begs
to link to anything…
But then I remember “tres,”
to tone it down, find “jolie”
among the names I’ve known,
and twine them
carefully
atop this page.

It’s easy to be brave
when the highway waits, and the mountains
and the darkness
will swallow me. But the meal
was incomplete until your brief distraction
with my prawn closed
a gap, if only for a moment.
Merci.
And da rien.


6/29/2002
Boise, Idaho

©2002 Matthew Ephraim Duncan