“never on good friday,”
mumbled the pink dragon,
and sighed over a dish of
marbled curry chicken,
“never on good friday
have i, pink dragon, had a friend
admire my spikey tail.”
his spikey tail with
orange pink polka dots,
his spikey tail all alone
in a chinese restaurant.
all around him
were grandmothers with white hair
pampering their gap-toothed grandsons,
middle aged lovers
twinkling eyes
over cups of hot green tea,
waiters and waitresses
chattering in cantonese –
but the pink dragon
sat alone.
his beautiful tail twitched sadly.
and out of a dragon eye with long purple lashes
rolled a long, salty dragon tear.
****
(and as it happens, nancy just posted another kinda=sorta good friday poem of mine, here)