The Peddler

Morning escape from the gravity of my bed

To the gods-washed air of spring Japan

After the rains of the season

I hump 10 kilograms of words in my backpack

I am a peddler of words

I buy with a smile or a single letter

I sell either hard or softly

Charming or cajoling students to cough up their hoarded words

I sold words in my homelands once

Flowery French that melts your mouth

To fidgety babes that spat it out

Staccato English that echoes in your house

To finicky buyers who already had their share

Lean Japanese that turned all angles 45 degrees

To fanboys busting out of kimonos like the dead

But it was not the same as here

Peddling my wares for a good price

After the rains of the season

In the gods-washed air of spring Japan