ALL NIPPON POEMS

DEATH TO BASHOS FROG

We are the hollow men. We are the salarymen, fighting in fiery offices on carpets of heartfailure. We are the stuffed men. We are the company men, leaning together on crowded commuter trains, tombstone suits, beef gravy ties, hairpieces filled with indigestion. Shape without form, we are the yes men, quiet and meaningless as wind in dry grass, betrayed by a mad Diet which no longer sleeps with its wife. This is the do-my-best land, corporate toady on the currency, we grope together and avoid speech: Silent pond frog jumps in not with a bang but a whimper. Tokyo, Sunday, 2/28/10