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Foto: by Fukuda
Mid-summer Night
We have learned this skill
of escaping
from a world we’ll never
escape.
The air is lukewarm
inside Koji Osakaya--
a miniature hurly-burly.
We dream of going away again.
Yes, it’s such a peaceful night.
Mind is drifting further and further.
A shrimp is swimming among onions:
a poem should be written
for nothing but a pot of Udon.
But first you have to learn
to eat shamelessly,
like the well-to-do
with the eyes of dead fish,
watching those dancing waitresses
& the mustached waiter almost slapped himself
for dropping a tea bowl;
a young mother with her daughter
are seated next to us
as I read the line of Roethke:
I suffered for birds, for young rabbits caught in the mower,
My grief was not excessive.
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