茶餐廳 Caa4 Caan1 Teng1 Dawn

Morning stomach grumbles rush us through the hanging plastic flap door
An uncle with stubble and a once white shirt 
Barks us to a yellow table lurking in the corner
Brush away crumbs, avoid wilting napkins, 
To grab at a plastic-wrapped, bent-corner menu
早餐 Zou2 caan1 is the magnet that drags our eyes
Orders shouted, drinks confirmed, waiter scribbles secured,
Dishes crash-land the table 
Minutes after their names pass our lips 
White sponge bread, layers of thick butter grease
Nestled next to yellow egg mounds specked with oil
Macaroni tubes, thin beige soup, and sprinkles of pink ham strands
All overshadowed by the shining tin mugs 
Of frothed brown tea, thick and weighed with white sugar 
Our tongues run as fast as the cooks
For dawn is best met with talks, toast, and milk tea.