The Sound of Single

Hello Ramen, my old friend,
I’ve come to dine with you again,

Because a hunger softly creeping,
Left its ache while I was working,
And the hole that was planted in my gut
Still remains
Within the reach of Ramen.

At empty ‘fridge I stood alone
Hollow shelves of food none,
‘neath the halo of a stove lamp,
I stirred my pot filled with toxins
When my nose was stabbed by the scent of
monosodium glutamate
I wished I’d already ate
And filled my gut
with real food.

And in the boiling pot I saw
Ten thousand sodium, maybe more.
Pressure rising without stopping,
Thirst erupting  without quenching,
Bachelors writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Stop eating
the Ramen.

Fools said I, you do not know
Ramen like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my blood that I might reach you.
But my words like acid raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the roils of Ramen.

And the bachelors bowed and prayed
To the neon soup they made.
And the bowl flashed out its warning,
In the sludge that it was forming.
Instincts said, “The ingredients  are not
meant for human – consumption.”

And whispered in the taste of Ramen.

(just in case)