I brush myself off.
It is midday
at the Asian hypermarket.

Red clouds of curry powder
are settling over rows of
Mung Bean paste and
bottles of oyster source.

The little girl behind the cash register
has seen me jump backwards
as I flapped at the miasma of spice.
She is sixteen going on fifty.
She frowns-

I am the Incredible Hulk
running amok in her narrow aisles.

Weak smiles and gestures
don't cut it.
Its five after twelve
and I am cooking blindly now
throwing ghee and gelagor
into the mix
as I stumble and reel.

I close burning eyes
and within me
a lumbering giant howls
for the humdrum simplicity
of a Big Mac.















(C) Eric Ashford June 08