Holiday to holiday, family friends
from my dad’s Macau boarding school childhood
eat dinner with us in Las Vegas.
At Hong Kong Seafood Restaurant, re-runs
of old Chinese shows: my mom’s teenage years,
followed by coffee commercials: the day’s
only started across the ocean.
We spin our holiday lazy Susan,
watching the Madonna of Asia sing
on TV—she’s known for her Nike brow.
My dad tells the waiter it’s my birthday
just so I can eat the lotus buns—
America’s best take on Hong Kong:
sculpted peaches, pasty leaves atop.
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