Never You Worry a Bánh Mì

I must say I have enjoyed you and your
Very bearded new boyfriend’s company at that
Vietnamese restaurant which I precisely remember used to be
One of our former love-and-hate destinations, you know
Back when all things Saigon were hip in Manhattan
And a plate of cupcakes still counted as valid
Birthday centerpiece.
The high moment of it all came, not too
Surprisingly, after you had finally climbed back up from
The lady’s room downstairs and concluded
The two fidgety men’s painful five minutes of
Listening to a poorly timed disco piece of a diva now dead
By proudly declaring that whatever leftover of that bánh mì
You could have it to go and eat it later, and by god forbid not
Being too careful about when that later exactly meant.
I once was fiercely in love with their bánh mì you should know
The slightly garlicky pork and just the right amount of vinegar makes it
Sublime, I used to swear I would live with it pretty soon and one day
March down the aisle with it in an excessively Tuscan rustic ceremony
But please, I’ve woken up and smelled the basil lemonade
I’ll order someone else instead.