In the Kitchen

Early in the morning a dough rises from the bowl
curling upward.
He clenches his bean paste fists, his mouth
dripping a black cocoa stream…

Hey, I say, have you just smuggled
nine knife mountains and nine oil pans from hell?
Deep-fried ghosts are the sweetest the crispiest the most intelligent
even in burnt rims, and taste even better with soy bean drinks.

He droops his sad expressions
like Oedipus’ crutch.
Collapsed in the steamer, he squeaks out a sweet smell
of duck soup from his soul—quack, quack.

厨房即景

厨房即景

清晨。从水盆中升起
一个袅袅面人。
他握着豆沙拳头，
嘴巴里流淌黑可可涎水……

我说：嗨，你可曾
爬过地狱的九层刀山和九重油锅，
那儿的“油炸鬼”最甜最脆最机灵。
还有焦圈，就着豆汁儿。

那人垂着悲哀的表情，
仿佛是俄狄浦斯的拐杖。
他瘫软在蒸气锅里，
灵魂发出鸭蛋羹的清香，吱吱，吱吱。