Expectation

The last of the yen went on sake,
wasabi peanuts, dried squid tentacles,
the makings of a memorable meal
planned for an early reunion
where, after the inevitable jet-lag,
we would juggle our memories
along with the chopsticks.

Nine hours to the west
the tastes were revolting, sake
an oily blandness soon poured away,
the peanuts leaving a sharpness
in our throats, the squid a reminder
of sweaty socks that no chewing
could dismantle.

A few postcards, the chopsticks
awkward between my fingers
as I try not to lose the last grain.

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