A Poem for the World's Smallest Restaurant
I was standing on a corner in old Bejing,
When I got run over by the craziest thing.
You can say what you want and think what you like,
But that thing looked like an outhouse that got hit by a bike.
I didn't see a thing. I didn't hear a sound,
Before I knew it I was sprawled on the ground.
This thing was more than incredibly fast,
Before I could see it, it was already past.
I asked my friend if he had a chance to see,
Whatever it was that ran over me.
He said, "I'll tell you what I saw and you can take it or leave it,
As for me, I don't think I'll ever believe it."
"It had bangs and dings and all kinds of things.
It had pots and pans and a pair of hands.
And what seemed out of place was a little Chinese face."
"There were crates and plates, chickens and ducks.
It was carrying enough for a couple of trucks."
"As it rocked and rolled on down the street,
I realized it was carrying stuff to eat."
My friend helped me up and as my head swam and swirled,
He said, "You've been run over by the smallest restaurant in the world."
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