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He is a white man in a brown space.

Indian curry in the front; Latino curry cooks in the back.

He wears a black button down shirt and slacks offering

a blank canvas on which you project your neurosis and hunger.

Pushing his thick dark hair back from his face,

you can catch the sincerity’s gleam in his eye.

The room lit by small silver flower sconces

calmly masks his game’s precision.

Amid the wordless music and silverware clangs and diners’ murmurs,

he transforms the world of this restaurant with its sweet smells of

mango lassi and butter chicken into his strict mistress.

To read the rest of the poem, please go to the Tupelo Press and Teen Creative Writing Center 30/30 Poetry Fundraiser at https://tupelopress.wordpress.com/3030-project/. Please consider sponsoring my work. Every little bit helps. And, thank you for supporting my writing! 🙂

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