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April 10, 2014
by C.E Putnam
A dozen red ducks arrived
in time for the spring moon festival.
Dangling by cords in the LO FUN
window, they perspire sweet and sour.
Last time, a fortune read: Call to the wind. You are inside us.
I am an unbeliever living among
long noodles, or dropped into
turtled snow peas, I am lost
with flounders in plum sauce.
Sometimes fish heads will say: you will get whatever you want in 5 minutes.
I cannot make Peking Duck
on my own. I have less than 48