Crow beats
he’s in the department store again standing in the home aisle under the fluorescent annoying hum that makes everything look like a hospital or a morgue
the bowls sit there stacked and stupid white ones, blue ones, even pink ones ones with little flowers that might look nice if plated nicely
too shallow, he thinks the shoyu would pool at the bottom very much like life always drowning out
at the home goods place on Tuesday he picks up a ceramic thing deep enough, sure but the diameter is all off the ramen would sit wrong in it and what’s the point of a bowl if the ratio is always flawed?
the salesgirl asks if he needs help he says no he’s been doing this for months
the discount store downtown more bowls hundreds of them and not one worth a shit
this one’s too wide that one’s too narrow this one has a rim that curves weird that one would make the katsu sit all funny
he goes home with nothing a sound of a crow crying far away in the distance car locks with the same beep
his girlfriend asks what took so long “the usual,” he says
Saturday morning, different store same aisle, different bowls same problem
a woman reaches past him grabs a plain white bowl doesn’t even look at it twice just tosses it in her cart and walks away
she’ll never know what she’s missing
the truth is maybe there is a right bowl somewhere in some store we haven’t tried yet
and he’ll drive us there some weekend and the weekend after that
because a man looking for the perfect bowl isn’t crazy he’s just got a dream
and when he finds it goddamn we’ll both eat like kings cause you know damn well id buy one too
so tomorrow he’ll drive to the Navy Exchange place or maybe that shop deep downtown where everything costs too much
and he’ll pick up another bowl feel its weight imagine donburi in it ramen in it loco moco in it
and maybe put it back down
or maybe just maybe this is the one
either way I’ll be there hoping the best for him always