Chicano Poet

Friday, December 09, 2011

Tale Of A Japanese Sailor

All I heard down in the engine room
was Tora! Tora! Tora!

This artificial light
had to come from somewhere good, I thought.

Back home perhaps Nara deer
looked for a confirmation from the surf.

A child played on the shore,
my little sister too young to seek each wave aloud.

When the planes returned,
it was all cheer.

The harbor was glorious,
they said.

The engine room did not change
as we criss-crossed brackish seas.

Until they sank us
we steamed along quite gallantly.

Does this journey down below
demand that salt water spew everywhere at once?

My eyes bulge and explode
against a bulkhead after I am dead.


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