A poem from 1992

I did not write anything yesterday; today is still up for grabs. Meanwhile, I re-discovered a couple (okay, four) poems I wrote in 1992, while I was still living in Tokyo. This particular poem would appear to be concerned with the subway.

The girl
with the brown teeth
and skin condition
takes another drag
from her

A man
with a brown briefcase
and bloodshot eyes
stares blankly
as he pukes
on the platform

While a student
in slacks
with earphones
in his ears [where else?]
bobs his head
in silence
eyes closed

A foreigner
wearing dark sunglasses
sits in a seat
by the door
straight ahead

(7 August 2015)


    • Fortunately, brown teeth do not figure prominently in my writing. 🙂

      Around that same time, though, I did have a co-worker who had very nice, straight teeth. They were rather a deep shade of yellow, however…

      • Translation. Nothing to do with teeth. My impression at that time (1987–1992) was that dentistry in Japan wasn’t as efficient as in the U.S. For example, my girlfriend in 1988-89 went to the dentist four times for a cleaning — once for each quadrant. If it took four visits for a simple cleaning, I could understand why people might not see the dentist that often. That’s why I never saw a dentist while I lived in Tokyo. Fortunately, when I did finally see a dentist a few years after coming back to the U.S., my teeth were in remarkably good condition.

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