I love Pho.
Especially when I am sick --- today I feel itchy and achy in every region above my neck.
Unfortunately I woke up and ate a bagel with lox so I'm not hungry enough for Pho yet, but I know as soon as I indulge it is going to make me feel a whole lot better (I am Jewish and Scandinavian. There is no way I can not love smoked salmon).
I've been dreaming very vividly for the past two months, and using it to write poetry. Here's the poem I wrote after waking up this morning:
I was on a train
the kind that circled around a tree
the passengers weren't all human
but a replica of Martin Luther King Jr was there.
So Oprah turned it into a game
and we didn't care because she was rich
and when we returned to school
with fat wallets and wet hair
the cupcakes weren't a surprise
in fact they were forgotten.
The search was to find money
and put it into the right order.
You couldn't leave the room with your stash
but out was where the bowl was
the bowl promised to be filled with the most cash.
But, leaving your money inside, while you were out
gave others the opportunity to snatch.
My dad knew where the bowl was
inside the maracas in the garage.
Peeling open the packaging I found just a toy mouse inside
and we laughed for having easily found it
watching all the paranoid players
taking the risk
to find something
that wasn't even there.