Afghan Kabob

This used to be a neighbourhood
of Poles                                                                                 
and Brits
and Italians,
her aunt says,
now you can’t recognize Mississauga
anymore.

She is moving away in a month,
to a small town in northern
Ontario

We are on the way to see her Polish mechanic.

I guess they haven’t all left,
I think.

In an otherwise nondescript strip mall
a colourful building catches my eye.
The large sign out front
reads: Afghan Kabob.

There is much more writing
on the sign
that I do not understand.

Perhaps
I am not meant
to understand.

Under the sign
three women in grey burqas
lean in close together
and seem to share
a laugh.

The bank on the north east corner
boasts that it is now better able to serve you
in more than thirty
languages.