The Encounter In A Greasy Spoon Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

Now here's a dozen plus one gringo
loungin' in an idyllic settin'
not fit for kings but a Toyo Sesshu ink wash
cause in the background
right behind ‘em baldin' monkish lookin' dudes
there's three semi-ova-topped bay windows

from whence protrude in like bas relief
a quarter-dozen half-dome mountain peaks.
I mean exactly like the ones you see in
Chinese paintings with ‘em crests hovering
above smog-filled Los Angeles yucky mists.
Remarkably, the table ain't loaded as for pigs.

There's only three mugs painted all silver,
which means there's only three boozers
and I don't think the handsome bearded one
with the lanky face is one of ‘em unless
they all share in but I don't think they do
and it ain't cause of poverty either.

I say this cause ‘em fellahs look well-fed
and they ain't dressed in street rags
though I notice a few stains on the table
but that's cause of the half-eaten croissants
which makes me think it's a French Bistro.
And let me tell you how funny

their gentile faces look with their pink cheeks
and Roman aquiline straight noses.
They're all of fair complexion and blondish.
I mean there couldn't be there a single Jew
unless they all, including her, had nose jobs
but I bet two of them might be Bolsheviks

cause they sit bare feet without sandals.
I'm not too sure if they are Commies
but would be wholly convinced if they were
sipping Vodka from their saucers of which
I don't see any. Most disturbing there isn't
any Manishevitz but Praise Laheim anyway.