ride out a few hard months getting treated like i'm garbage. check my instincts at the door. sick on the red line home in a blind rage. can't do - won't do - can't do it anymore.
"drink the tea." let them use my voice to speak.
kettles of tea and hot towels waiting on every table. wipe off the splattered sauce and shit. folk songs from seoul. the bowl's hot - it's carried with mitts from the kitchen. an egg cracked in raw now spitting and crisp.
it's all fine. these walls absorb all space and time. i stand in line in between my double shift for soup to warm my insides.
all of the noise around the mandarin house, circling around like a vulture. but we're safe inside. you can't shake me.
power through, pulling pennies we beg for, smiling at you. if you get what's due, try not to mention the money to the back-of-house crew.
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