Bowl cusps remnants left
by small appetite. Too common
a sight to bother compared to
pit stop lunches preceding lists of
errands to run,
commissions to earn.

The bowl, a faulty tire
by the wayside, offends
incoming occupants planned
for swift and sharp refuel.
The race that ensues requires
full concentration; leaving no space
to tar one’s shoes.

The bowl is cleared, not by one
from the hunched, underpaid,
and neglected team.
But by a man, neatly dressed with
umbrella hooked on arm that
extends to deft hand which
swoops in to take the bowl

and puts it to mouth;
swallowing contents along with
remnants of his pride.

Silence issues from gaping
mouths of those in the pits
as the man departs.

But it is soon broken
by chatter pronouncing
hungry hopes superior
to that of body to drown
him out.

The bowl is left cusping
the absence
of an unwitting offering.

Isaac Tan