The aroma pinches
One’s nerves. Around
It crowd a motley
Of people from all walks
Of life. Hands jam in the
Frying pan where an army
Of small cotton ball-like
Figures, afloat the boiling
Syrupy liquid, dance in
Frantic daze, just like fishes
That frolic in the sea.
These hands bear thin
Wiry sticks and they attack
The little cotton ball-like figures
Mercilessly: They skewer them,
Dunk them in the sticky,
Brown colored-liquid contained
In several small bottle-containers
(Note: Inside, thousands
There are of saliva-borne
Viruses that take shelter; they
Add juicy flavor to the taste!)
Not far behind.
Then, slowly,
These smeared stick-skewered
Cotton ball-like figures take
Flight in the air and plunge
Downward into the
Waiting open living holes.
They are ruthlessly crushed as
The open holes begin
To close. Then they are
Gone.
