My first time at Shogun Teppanyaki,
I ordered noodles
and let the slices of fish on rice
slide by.
I stuck my head in a Redwall
and slurped
as my mum and auntie
poised cylinders to their mouths
with sticks.
When I was finished,
I put the bowl of dredges
on the conveyor belt
like I was sure I was supposed to,
to take it back into the kitchen.
As an increasing amount of widening eyes followed it,
a wobbling giant piece of porcelain,
I learnt how trying to be responsible can
come right back around
in an unsavoury way.