sushi

i write about sushi leftovers
sitting on my bedside table
as if they are not making my bedroom
the delicious scent of fish
and wasted money

and the delivery bags are piling in the corner
and the soy sauce stains are ruining my new covers
but the sushi was good, when it was fresh
a bite of avocado
a slither of salmon
and a little pot of seaweed on the side
i wonder who first decided seaweed should be eaten
and i think creativity is a gift
we must practise

whoever invented sushi
was a genius
and i forever find myself defending it
against avid fish-haters
when my boyfriend took me on a sushi date
he ate curry
and i looked at him like he’d committed a crime

i pen the words to create poetry
as good as sushi
a sprinkle of hope
a dash of despair
waiting for the right person to consume
my words, strongly scented with poignancy
and lingering spills of soy sauce
i wait for them to defend my brain
to say “i know it’s controversial,
but if you actually give it a chance
it’s not so bad”

the way sushi eaters
argue with people who refuse to eat fish
sushi is possibly
my favourite dish
and my only wish

is for poetry to be loved
like this.

12:59pm - 16/10/25.