a poem by Daniel Romo
Chinese. But I eat out often at Panda Express. I pretend
to be fluent in Mandarin Chicken, and begin to recite the
ingredients: 2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, vege-
table oil, sugar, salt, ginger, soy sauce. You aren't fooled.
You say ginger is a front; garlic powder is more pleasing
to the pallet. I inform you that ginger is native to India and
China, and takes its name from the Sanskrit word stringa-
vera, which means "with a body like a horn," as in antlers.
You aren't convinced and call bullshit. You say ginger is
antiquated. More commonly associated with the most pop-
ular Spice Girl. But the most popular Spice Girl is Posh, I
say. You tell me I have a point. I accept your concession for
believability. And move on attempting to woo you with sexy
talk of Chow Mein, Crispy Shrimp, and Beijing Beef.