On Meeting My Best Friend Forty Years from Now

We will sit down in a Chinese restaurant

Just off of Grant Avenue; one which has gold

Designs filigreed on Mandarin Red paint

And wooden chairs upholstered with foam rubber.

Our waitress will be wearing a cheong sam

Of the kind worn for centuries. A dragon

Will be wrapped around the pillar near our seats.

What shall we say to each other?  The waitress

Will bring us tea steeping in the scent of jade.

Will we talk about how we used to steam links

Of lop chong in my Hitachi rice cooker

Or will we drop our past into a napkin

Plain, white, and laundered for future customers?

I will click ivory chopsticks on the vinyl.

Perhaps we will discuss our offspring, all grown

By then and yours will have children of their own.

The waitress will bring rice. You will show pictures

Of your grandchildren, eyes dark as black bean sauce.

As dust begins to settle on our foreheads,

Our waitress will bring half moons of dim sum.

We will talk about the short days lined in silk,

Our wives sandalwood clasps, gray sticks of incense.

We will finish our meal except for some bits

Of green pepper and seeds. The waitress will clear

Our table leaving us with empty tea cups.

A last pot of tea will be brought; we’ll immerse

Ourselves in jasmine. The restaurant will close

Then our waitress and you and I will dissolve.