The Last Time I Was Here
The last time I stared at the salmon tails
and salivated over avocado sushi
you were not here. I had the whole
glass-fronted frozen wasteland to myself.
This time, saw your profile, knew I knew you.
As you turned, “Hullo!” burst from both
our mouths. We must have looked like fish.
Next thing, you’re kissing me on the cheek.
But I can’t remember your name or where
we have met. “You’re so busy, in the papers!
I see you’re everywhere!” you say.
What the world needs now is not love or
publicity but the universal habit of name-tags.