TODD CHRISTOPHER CINCALA

TOP RAMEN

Grocery shopping
Shoelace undone
A knee to the supermarket floor,
I find my nostalgia stash
Five for a dollar.

The same price I remember
At the college store
Same bottom shelf
Stacked three rows deep
Three flavors: chicken, beef
And politically incorrect Oriental.

Water bubbles to a boil
As she walks in, girlfriend tired
Eyebrows curled over the pot
Question marks
What s for dinner?

I stand adrift
Over a square raft
Unraveling strands
Midnight dorm room snack
Exams up all night
Keg beer drinking
Stoned over a hot plate
Alone, single.

She neglects her bowl,
Eyebrows straight now
Pointed hostile

I slurp strands
Unlike those I remember
Not even a hint of flavor
Banal, bland.

I blame her
Then ask her
To pass the Tabasco.
 

Todd Christopher Cincala lives in Brooklyn, works in Manhattan, and writes in free verse.

His poetry has appeared previously in Mobius magazine and the Absinthe Literary Review and will be forthcoming in The Subway Chronicles.