presence in absence

Grey skies and
a cool breeze
there’s gentle rain,
a foody’s tease

the smells waft though
pakoras deep fried
thin rings of onion
and potatoes sliced
that smell of pakoras
which aren’t made.

the steam rises
from idlys all fluffy
wisps above sambar,
spicy green chutney
that steam of idlys
that aren’t made

the coffee sits fresh
from its vending journey
button immediacy
its only claim
but an instant taste
that is in front of me.