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Poetry Magnum Opus

Samurai


dedalus
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fuji04!.jpg

 

 

Slowly, slowly

the little snail

climbs Mount Fuji

 

sends a message to his wife:

pretty good day today!

Snails have their systems.

 

Well, dear, I made –oh - 2.5?

He’d be talking about metres:

Fuji has 3776 of those things

 

going up into the snowline

getting gradually colder, so

pure, so apart from sweltering

 

skin-itching, sleep-depriving

bugfucked Japanese summers

people endure below.

 

Even snails in their shell

have been known to complain

among the roaring cicadas

 

in their dusty pines

down on the plain.

Don’t take a chill my honey

 

says Mrs. Snail. I want you

back here safe and sound.

It’s all right my darling.

 

I know my way along the ground.

I do not share the human hell

of doing things for money.

 

I do what I must do

for the snails of Japan, for the Emperor,

but most of all for you!

 

Japan_Mount_Fuji_5e592e96741746038ed7282d886d2fd5.jpg

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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After some strenuous thought, difficult for me, I wanted the snail to be a loyal Samarai, ready to give all to his master. It's difficult for me not to let my love for the taste of escargot to twist my thinking. I Know, all my thoughts are twisted.

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