Whenever I smell potato leek soup,
I drift back to the Mardi Gras dinner,
While serving the steaming hot side dish.
Instead of hearing the soft music
Playing in the background of the cafe
I hear the clash of a glass plate falling to the floor
And the loud chatter of hundreds of people.
And whenever I eat pearl couscous,
I’ll wander back to the tables
Littered with plastic crawfish and beads.
When it’s the day before Fat Tuesday
And it’s seventy-degree weather,
I’ll think of when we played
Truth or Dare in the playground.
Wherever I am, I’ll always remember that night,
The day before Fat Tuesday.
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