dedalus Posted March 7, 2012 Share Posted March 7, 2012 I could never run away from a bad situation. You can die they say from radiation. Come home, come home, but not too soon, Fukushima. Fuku means happy. Shima means island: Happy Island. Happy island? A strange cloud seems to be gathering outside my window ... I find it suddenly hard to breathe. Alarm bells are going off somewhere. I hear voices. I am on the floor. Thin Lizzy comes ringing in my brain: Whiskey in the Jar. Ahhh ... not a bad way to go. The phone rings: What? You're late for work. I think I’m dying, all right? OK, you need a Doctor’s Note. I’m dying, OK? Hmmm. What if I want to die without being dead? She says I need a note, please. I love our office secretaries. The phone rings again You're late for work. Do you fuckin mind? I am composing a poem. Look here. You either write poems or you go in for gainful employment open and available for the likes of you at 5000 Yen per hour. Do you understand? Poetry goes out the window. I drive and I drive behind the trucks on the highway under rain and fog and weather conditions until I finally get to the company classroom where I meet quite lovely people. They could have run away, too, but of course they would never have done so. It’s very hard not to sort of love them as they earnestly try, in their company uniforms, to deal with demon English. Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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