It's January 20th, my birthday,
a winter day in New Haven,
but I'm inside a small Indian restaurant,
sitting across from a best friend,
eating chicken tika masala and naan.
We watch the TV by the hanging wine glasses,
Operation Iraqi Freedom,
and get second helpings at the buffet,
piling up scoops of rice and unknown sauces.
We can feel the warmth from the food
licking our cheeks and eyelids.
The TV shows a dark sky and city,
occasional flashes of green and red,
bombs rumbling while commentators try
to come up with something new to talk about.