Dango

It`s a big, big, world. Poems expanding daily. Watch in awe as your favorite poems change right before your eyes, like Sea Monkeys.

Tomatoes, the New Fruit

tomatoes are the new fruit, and will be
as long as I live within spitting distance of
vine rich dirt

what I call the `root beer effect` is achieved
through two parts summer exhaustion
and one part ice cubes cracking
in the glass, liquid foaming up
in pure amber bliss (in Japan we
settle for a pale imitation, diet coke)

these sudden pleasures, same as the deep
sugary ripeness of a Carolina watermelon,
the wet wet tang of a shelf ripe peach
(I can`t afford fruits here)

well, there are bananas, cheap as they go
and good in a monkey way

And the musk melon which my girlfriend brings
every year, a gift from her father`s colleagues
to her father, through to us-- perfectly wrapped,
no dirt on the skin... takes about a week to
make the effort to eat it, also sweet, short-lived.

June 24, 2005 in Food and Drink | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

effects of alcohol on the unwary

no excuses ma`am,
he`s just ironing out
the kinks of the soul,
under-the-table meditation
yeah he sent himself there
a good while ago, with five bottles
and four sheets to the wind
verily he is in good company
chatting with the baseball greats
of his generation, McGwire, Bonds
asking them about medication,
it`s the first thing that comes to mind

then awakening crawling, climbing
hanging, slithering and falling,
back under the table Plop!
that`s the sound of his head folks,
no overipe eggplant, get him a stretcher
medic, medic! I think were losing time
Oh time, its 4 or 5, or 5 after nine,
let`s see if I can turn my watch
so I can read the dial right,
well its not very bright anyway,
in fact there`s no light and the man
I`m describing is... gone.

February 19, 2005 in Food and Drink | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

the scalding

Distress simmers in
stainless steel pots
with peeled garlic and hot peppers,
slowly heats to a painful boil
then drops

Came up from nothing
her cry
exploded upon the counter
her cry
scalding the thief
who bent to smell
such pungent spices.

January 08, 2005 in Food and Drink, poems `92-`98 | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

hatarakimono

Once, books and pamphlets luxuriated
in space, taking time to greet some people
watching me, they`re very funny
through the glass of the kebab stand
with the neon heineken bottle atop
the only place to go for chicken in Roppongi
that can rival a Santa Cruz taqueria for pure meatness,
fat slices of roasted chicken slathered between
pita, with onion and tomato, an explosion
of yoghurt sloth and sauce

outside the men in grey jump suits
working, 2:30 am, I ask the couple
now inside in the fragrant chicken warmth
why they are working so hard on a Saturday night
as if the devil himself were chasing,
a shrug and the usual reply, `workaholic`
Not a sideways glance from their pipe filled trench
at legs and hips in tipsy passing

Oh they are hard workers, hataraki-mono
beyond comprehension and what I was going to say,
once books had lots of space so you could
write poems and aimless scribble in the margins
while this page is flashing like the old imperial
Japanese flag `nippon maru` all red and white starburst
an advertisement for all-night 400 yen drinks,
I`ll head there next.

November 08, 2004 in Food and Drink, Japan, Roppongi | Permalink | Comments (13)

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