Article: In Nikita's Indian Restaurant.(Poem)

In Nikita's Indian Restaurant 
 
   We're on our second date, eating curried chicken, 
   when the waiter says, "Why she sit on child's step 
   stool? Why so short?" I say, "Who me? What do 
   you mean? I'm as tall as Greta Garbo." I say this 
   to disremember and disregard the slump of shoulders. 
   The waiter says, "Stand up. I want to see your body." 
 
   When I'm empty in a safe apartment, I'll light 
   cigarette after cigarette. I'll ask of the smoke-filled 
   room, "Why scoliosis and a bad leg and a club foot?" 
   But in front of you, I smile to the waiter, the smile 
   we ...

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