A food fight in the cafeteria
As I opened my lunchbox, the first shot fired
But this was not Syria
Something innate had transpired

An ancient aroma wafted through the air
As the bullet hit the boy next to me
It was like smoke, but with an Asian flair
My roots were exposed for all to see

Inside the box was an arsenal of food
Of fried fish, rice, and picked vegetables
Battling it out against the cuisine of another latitude
Of PBJs, pizza, and Lunchables

A struggle between two nations
In the suburbs of San Jose
But I didn’t want to have two relations
I chose one to betray

I shut the lid tight
To temporarily stall the war
Maybe one day the rivals will unite
An American I am, but Asian I tried to ignore

--Henry N., Adult