"teriyaki" poems
Holograms on my hand gave me a tanned wrist
Diamonds dancing on my fist look like a blank disc
Teriyaki soup with the lemon Fanta
Heavy weight, heartburn: Mylanta.
On my cell phone, now I'm on my iPhone
Now I'm on my bat phone.
Hanging fangs down like a vampire (Twilight!)
Sapphires dancing on my hand like a campfire (Dancing!).
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
Embodied in a perpetual persona of shitheaded seventeen
(Before you snuck out on a cold silver sheet)
You could measure your lifespan (or is it your wingspan, now? did you know it's the same as your height?) in late-night shenanigans topped with bacon-guaca-holy-moly burgers, tumbling in neon spandex and the raising of general hell, which you probably can't reach right now,
(And how many flaming bags of feces on why-not doorsteps, for me?)
Speaking of me,
Do you remember when I kissed your head beside a broken down photo machine? Do you remember when we ran away from your first girlfriend (her first kiss) and laughed because you had a current girlfriend? Do you remember when we tried out clouds in department store floor levels, like you were planning on getting one all along? Like you were my (first) and now my (late) husband? Three years doesn't seem very long ago, when placed in proportion with - what was that word again - eternity?
You were but a fleeting presence not only in my life, (in her life, his life, their lives now broken from a trio into a typical twosome) but in your very own - one blonde beach-bunny darting from top-hat to top-shelf
(Could you give up World of Warcraft for a World of pearly White?)
(Would you take me to my Senior Prom?)
We will float yellow rubber ducks down the water at your wake (one by one) and eat food-court teriyaki because no one is allowed to be sad (says you)
(Jesus, baby, what's your dang address?!)
In the end, you ride off into the sunset on your unicycle, like the bad movie that this is
(Screaming, "this thing's killer on the *****
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
Gethsemane
Butterflies, fawns, the quiet trickle of a nearby stream.
Apostles argue.
Again
Some want pizza
Others teriyaki
A few want pastrami from Moshe's Deli in Nazareth
"Brothers. Time is short," said Jesus quietly,
"Let us not argue. I have brought a potato. Let us share."
The Apostles look at each other in dismay.
A potato?
What is this another f*cking parable?
They were hungry and impatient.
"Look JC," said Simon
"You're the Messiah and all, but we were hoping for something a little
more substantial."
"I bid you peace, Brother," said Jesus, covering the potato with a plain cloth.
He began the customary blessing for this type of food.
The Apostles bowed their heads respectfully.
One by one they closed their eyes in prayer
Sanctifying the simple meal that was before them.
Minutes passed
Stomachs growled
Apostles began to fidget.
Without warning Jesus shouted,
"Chabada Kedavra,"
and lifted the cloth, revealing a whole roasted chicken beneath.
The Apostles clapped their hands in delight at Jesus' latest miracle.
"Faith feeds us in many ways," said Jesus.
"Amen," said the Apostles in unison....
Completely missing
The KFC bag
That Jesus was sliding
under the table
with his sandaled foot.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
I feel like I've seen you a lot recently
I saw you at the mall once, but you were older and working at a teriyaki place in the food court; you were still working hard, but the sweat came from the steam while you were frying strips of beef and vegetables and shrimp instead of while you were outside in an apple orchard during the day
You still had the same smile, and you’d try to say thank you in Tagalog, even though you butchered it a little and I didn't know how to say you’re welcome without sounding foreign too.
I saw you on the bus, but your nose and eyes seemed bigger than I remembered and your voice a little louder and you've made friends with a bus driver I had never met. When you looked at me, your eyes widened in what I think was surprise—I can’t tell, because I looked away too fast
You talked about a job I didn't quite hear, and you stood for a long time—did you grow taller since I last saw you? Your uniform was mostly red, and it was kind of different than your usual black and white attire. I liked you better in those colours, I think.
There was a book I loved because it reminded me of you, but it also reminded me of me in all the wrong ways and either way I can’t help but feel sad whenever I read it
The first time I read it I couldn't stop crying, it was as if the author knew of us and told a version of our story, except in his version you were coming back to me
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
I'll try not to forget the first time I felt you looking at my white shoes and gold shirt and the way i tried to hide my rosy cheeks each time my eyes scanned the gym to find yours meeting my gaze from across the court. I'll try not to forget the way you got nervous when I showed interest and how you wanted to hold my hand but couldn't. I'll try not to forget how desperately you wanted to kiss me in attendance recovery but couldn't. I'll try not to forget how many times you watched 500 Days of Summer in my absence and all 500 similarities you contrived between that pretty girl with the heart shaped tattoo on the bike in the elevator on the rooftop and the one standing in front of you with a hidden scar down her chest flowers in her hair a crooked smile.
Ill try not to forget how many times you tried to be my friend because I told you that was what I wanted and how many times you couldn't bear that. I'll try not to forget the time you walked to my house in the dark just to read words in the dictionary on a mattress with me.
I'll try to forget the days when those words transformed into the absence of them.
I'll try not to forget the books we found at the flea market and the plant soil you spilled in my car and the talks we had late at night in your driveway and the fear of your mother finding out you were with a girl. I'll try not to forget the difference between sesame and teriyaki chicken because I always thought both looked disgusting but they made you happy so I appreciated them. Ill try not to forget the first night I slept in your bed and the innocently hesitant neck kisses. I'll try not to forget the night you desperately wanted to kiss me- and then desperately kissing you.
And how bad it was,
but how it made the sun shine brighter in that dark room than it ever has outside at noon.
I'll remember intimate conversations and the first time I told you I loved you and the way you didn't believe me and the months we spent not sure of what we wanted and how that uncertainty faded as the warm weather did and how the cold no longer comes from the winter but from the absence of your smile when I wake
I'll remember what you said about absence and this time I'll agree with you; absence makes the heart full and fond and full of longing, not hollow.
I'll remember the start in hopes of never having to try to forget an ending.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
Just when I think I've seen it
All throughout this land
They went and upped the anti
On the classic can of Spam
Those with the higher power
The ones that run the show
The Spam men of the hour
In a bunker buried way down low
Have added different flavors
To this meat of mystery
From Teriyaki to Tocino
That's bacon to those who don't speak Philippine
They heat it up with Jalapeno
Helps to liven up the slime
Those bunker boys as they're fondly known
Have really out done themselves this time
Aloha from Hawaii?
Imagine Spam in a Hula skirt
As they pull out the Leis and go all the way
Adding pineapple to those Spam burps
Exciting rumors have it
They're in talks with Oreo
There's no place in this universe
That a good slice of spam won't go
The only thing they need to work on
Is the dipping in the milk
They have yet to solve the problem
Of the massive oil spill
Yes they've taken what the rest of us
Never thought could be improved
Just goes to show what ingenuity
And a touch of crazy genius can do
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 10:32 AM UTC
perhaps unintentionally
he left a blue service pen
and a tube of chapstick
hidden in the inner pockets
of the coat he gave to me
and all I could do was cry
over lip balm and the
receipt from that teriyaki
place in December, on the
way home, I drove under
25, a heavy heart but two
feet MIA, and I wondered
over and over, over and
over, would anybody, will
anybody love me as much
as he did?
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
don't think about the farmer's market and sitting at cheap plastic tables that felt like they could blow away as easily as a hat in chicago
don’t think about the styrofoam bowls filled with rice and teriyaki chicken that you couldn’t eat and the napkins that always got scattered everywhere
don’t think about the singer under the tent who’d strum and hum and provide the perfect ambience as the sun was getting low in the winter
don’t think about how the burgundy sweatshirt was almost too big for his frame and how it would swamp yours completely, sleeves easily surpassing your fingertips
don’t think about how the buzz of shoppers and shopkeeps merely mirrored the buzz of excitement that radiated between you both
don’t think about the way he’d laugh with a napkin over his mouth and pull his shoulders up, clearly nervous
don’t think about the way his eyes lit up at the mention of certain subjects and how he’d rattle on about them
don’t think about how miserable he seemed at the thought of school but how quietly joyful he became when you said you’d be glad to pick him up after if he’d like
don’t think about how you saw the difference you were making and were so glad to have him so close
but really, just don’t think about how
the sun made you squint and you sat across the cheap plastic table from him in his hated burgundy school sweater with his chicken and rice
and the way you had to tilt your head slightly to hear his soft voice over the rolling energy of the crowd
and that you were allowed to touch again and how you gladly took advantage of that to calm your own nerves
and how you couldn’t even imagine half the things that have happened since that first day you got lunch.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
I had a dream last night.
Yes, another of those poems.
Fooled you.
Unoriginal hack of a poet.
well,
deal with it.
Just listen.
Where was I?
The dream...
It started out well enough.
I was in an unfamiliar place,
walking down a city street.
I'm over this dream.
It's all the same.
Same experiences.
Same dreams.
Fast forward.
I woke up at 1:32 AM.
Yes, I always remember the exact times.
Thirsty as hell, I drained my orange juice.
Warm orange juice tastes like ****
It didn't satisfy this craving.
It had to be the teriyaki chicken...
I wouldn't be able to sleep.
Fell back asleep.
2:34 AM, still
thirsty.
Drained two glass of what tasted like Fruit Punch.
Fell back asleep.
6:35 AM alarm starts going off.
Time to go about the day.
Remember what yesterday was,
what tomorrow could have been.
Maybe I will dream tonight.
Maybe,
It will be blank.
Wouldn't be the first time it happened.
Oh,
how emotional.
If you're wondering
the street turned into green fields,
wet with morning,
smelling of fresh life.
I ran by ___________.
You make up the rest.
Not even my dreams are original.
Life is rough
when you make it.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
For days we liased
Along lines and trains
Til we came upon a town
Wet with rice paddies
Steeped in Uji
This area is famous
He said
For centuries we make tea.
I nodded and drank.
To the sea
We marched slowly
Along busy roads
Crashing waves
to a small family shack
This area is famous
He said
Teriyaki and Eel
Eating a delicacy of spine
Into the mountains
Fuji welcomed us
To orchards
And High spirits
In the snowy dome
This area is famous
He said
The fruit basket
Drown in sweet wine
So we fly
To electric billboards
and modern architecture
The pride of industry
In hazy skyline
Hiroshima is very famous
He Said
Really, Why is Hiroshima famous?
For Atomic Bomb!
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
i said goodbye to the desert
spit out a few grains of rust and sand
as i sat in the back of my mother's grand marquis
i was bidding farewell to the long plaid skirt i wore to school every day
the school that was mercifully unmarred by bullets
the glitter on the popcorn ceiling of my grandparents' home
the smell of an overwhelming saturday evening
which stank of discarded waste and cigarettes
we were going somewhere special
goodbye nuevo laredo
eight years later
i said goodbye again
to a neat little home
nested tightly amongst the bricks of others
a hilly backyard
bluebonnets sashaying on the side of the highway
mexican restaurants every three blocks
that could never replicate what i once had
stars and stripes holding steady in the shade of a sycamore tree
a glittering city in the distance
i was in love
and i was going somewhere special
i was elated to escape
both of my previous lives
always finding myself awash with uncertainty
adrift as i committed and uncommitted to a series of distractions
from the beastly recesses of my pruned little brain
that snarled about hopelessness
abandonment
a lack of worth
and motivation
maybe i knew i was meant to run
since the moment of implantation
my new neighborhood is impeccably silent at night
no hollers to strain my ears for
no ominous pop-pop-pops
(was that a firework or could it be...)
no jovial music with thundering basses and large round drums
i eat pork drenched in teriyaki sauce
and drink green tea in the evenings
on the train, i gaze at the empty stares of other passengers
my gaze is also unreadable
i practice the strokes of a kanji
one, two, three...
my husband and i meander through temples
heavy and groaning with the weight of a thousand years
of life
benevolent buddhas and Cheshire-grinned demons
i can't help but think of the message of a western God
that my mother recited to me every night in the black of our room
sometimes i shuffle my feet in the square space of my living room
to the tune of cumbia
i used to think that i didn't have an identity
no confinement to a culture conceived by the likes of men
but i am what i am
and i never actually escaped
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC
Rubber chicken bubble bath,
greasy chicken nugget,
Never learned a lick of math
How many in this bucket?
Counting on my hands and feet,
Spilling sweet and sour,
Wolfing down this deep fried meat
By dozens every hour.
Teriyaki, honey mustard, Barbecue, Atomic,
Churning in this raging pit of lava once a stomach.
Though many hours pass, a fire immolates my mouth,
Then I feel the terror of what waits for me down south.
My body is a war zone, a broken ruin burning,
Though I may never eat again, I’m bad at lesson learning.
For if I ever do, I will forget this day,
Once more my organs pay the price, the spice will have its way.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 1:30 PM UTC
You're my honey BBQ glazed love,
Taste like syrup.
My pineapple cranberry kiss,
My sweet orange teriyaki chicken nugget.
You're a caramel lookin one.
Suga gumdrop sexiness,
My cherry apple sweetie pie.
You're my bubblegum candy pop.
A lemon dripped goodness.
My hot cocoa cinnamon spice,
And Lip lickin brown strawberry sugar.
You're a coconut drizzle,
A melted sunny candy corn.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
I wander our old lives, I take the train I always took to see you, I pass the pancake place we never went because it was always too busy at brunch time,
and the teriyaki place we went instead that was surprisingly good considering it's emptiness.
I see the Kia dealership I waited in front of, not knowing you were waiting for me a block away on a charming main street.
I see the Mexican treats place where we got deliciously odd flavored paletas, and the pirate golf where we ate mediocre pizza and giggled at cheesy glow-in-the-dark pirates.
But you are not here. You do not greet me at the transit center.
While I revisit old memories, you are exploring our future. You are walking streets we may walk together. Perhaps you are passing restaurants that will become our favorites, a park where a momentous decision will be made, the locations of disappointments and joys
yet to come.
Despite the traffic and obvious signs of habitation surrounding me, this place is a ghost town to me.
It's not for me anymore.
My present is a limbo between nostalgia and anticipation. My future is with you. I'll join you soon.
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 8:06 PM UTC
Just when I think I've seen it
All throughout this land
They went and upped the anti
On the classic can of Spam
Those with the higher power
The ones that run the show
The Spam men of the hour
In a bunker buried way down low
Have added different flavors
To this meat of mystery
From Teriyaki to Tocino
That's bacon to those who don't speak Philippine
They heat it up with Jalapeno
Helps to liven up the slime
Those bunker boys as they're fondly known
Have really out done themselves this time
Aloha from Hawaii?
Imagine Spam in a Hula skirt
As they pull out the Leis and go all the way
Adding pineapple to those Spam burps
Wait a minute!
Now they have pumpkin in the can of Spam
To spice up the feeling of Fall
Those that don't see Spam as a delicacy
Might be at a loss
Exciting rumors even have it
They're in talks with Oreo
There's no place in this universe
That a good slice of spam won't go
The only thing they need to work on
Is the dipping in the milk
They have yet to solve the problem
Of the massive oil spill
Yes they've taken what the rest of us
Never thought could be improved
Just goes to show what ingenuity
And a touch of crazy genius can do
So don't knock it till you try it
And try it if you must
But remember my friend always save the lid
For afterwards scraping of the tongue
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 9:05 PM UTC
Shards of prisms fill the sky with a prime teriyaki taste.
Chirps sing threw the huge cloudy toothpaste.
Grin at the regional food we are happy with your rebate.
Did you get the memo or the new locate.
Your eye brows are grass colored and thick with out a slow pace.
Is your sandy hair ready too swim to the new island today
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC