I am learning to eat sushi. My fingers
are not yet skilled at holding chopsticks.

I have not yet learned that nigiri goes
fish side down into the wasabi’d soy sauce.

My coordination does not improve
with Sapporo. I sit in the last seat

against the rice white wall, watching
as the chef slices fish and wraps rolls.

Is it true they have to make rice for years
before they get to touch the fish? Splash!

I drop my maguro in the dish of soy sauce.
Not only does it splash me, it splashes the wall.

Uffda! That will need a fresh coat. I apologize.
I am embarrassed. When I get the bill,

I stop fretting. Yamachan has done more
damage to my wallet than I have to his wall.

***

Today’s prompt from Poetic Asides was to write a “damage” poem.