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Curry Muncher

This White guy, right? I think his name was Sam.
Went on and on about how much he loved curry.
Well, I guess that must have meant he liked me?
I cringed into my wine glass and took a full swig
Is that a cockroach on the floor?
I was thinking about that HK back in Blacktown.
Probably cause he wouldn’t have talked to me about curry,
just his weight lifting sessions and his huge pecs like
he always did with me on Tinder. Brown guys, right?
I kinda fantasise about being the bumbag across his hairy chest.
Is this pinot grigio natural?
Back to this White guy, right? Still going on about curry.
Guess he thinks my pussy is made out of it or something.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m a fake. But I’m telling you,
the Desis I’ve dated only fuck White girls or marry Desi girls
just so they can have someone to cook them puffed rotis.
If I let him pay for the date will he think I’m interested?
I can’t work out if I hate myself or Sam more.
Maybe I should give that HK a ring after this?



This poem is part of a suite of poems titled How to Wrap a Sari for Beginners.

Go to Gayatri Nair's profile to read more poems