The night the ceiling descended

Who resists Little India?
Young, earnest busboys
lining up Sixth Street,
shouting out -- conjuring
bright, gleaming platters
of faintly spiced bread --

We stood there, enchanted.
Drunken on glittering
skylines, strange noises,
midnight-blue saris,
The life we might lead.

Do you remember
that night? (The interminable
puppet show; the drag cabaret;
The guy on the Vespa, screaming,
“Television! Television!”
Your hair, in the rain?)

That night when the ceiling
descended -- festooned with crinkling
stars, silver elephants,
Valentine hearts --
When our waiter appeared, singing
“Janam din ki badhai.”
“Happy birthday to you.”