Bagdad Bistro.

Nummer vier, bitte
I say in my best shop
German—
This place was a
Running joke once;
I’d pass it all the
Time—

              But that was another time.

He shears the meat
Like juicy wool,
As the dregs of
Summer
Wafts in the open
Door—
He stuffs fluffy bread 

            Aubergine, potatoes too,

I’m quick to say
Ohne Zweibeln, bitte
And tentatively ask,
Hast du käse,
At which point I’m
Lost
In his quick response,

          Dusting both with feta.