the war i fight so quietly

I drive past the Vietnamese lounge on Middlesex Street
at least ten times every week

and wonder about the bright magenta and green
neon lights advertising beer and spirits --
and the signs celebrating pho noodle soup

Do they have mahogany stools
and a long clean polished bar?

The sound of western music
makes me sick for a second
only because I know, somewhere
there is something other than
one beat, one guitar, one bass
and lyrics longing for pudgy little love.

It's only 5 minutes later,
but by the time I get in my driveway
I've already forgotten the smell of garlic
and anchovy paste -- Vietnam is over
again.