Five Spice Chicken

Vietnamese hole-in-the-wall
acclaimed as Cordon Bleu
off Polk Street on California
in the City of St. Francis

A musky scent of mystery
perfumes the well-worn counter
with pedestals as stools
a smaller seedy Nighthawks café

Flames leap up as fat
spits and drips on fire
below an ancient grill
sideshow for a late lunch

In a lingua franca
spoken in borderlands
both East and West
a wizened woman asks
five-spice chicken

They nod yes as she scoops clumps
of rice onto chipped platters
and with a pair of tongs
takes from the grill two tiny chickens
that waft rich decadent aromas

Sweet star-anis reigns
while cinnamon and cloves
with licorice undertones
support freshly grated ginger
in an exotic fusion
more powerful than poppies

Vet and grown boat-boy are whisked off
to some imaginary war-time Saigon side street
seduced and die a gourmand’s death
in a city once known as Paris of the East

Not sated yet they leave
and retire to a quickly rented room
in the blighted gritty Tenderloin
for a long and languid
lazy digestif