PHYLLIS' BATH SONG

You’re gonna get bathed

You’re gonna get washed

You’re gonna stop smelling

Like a dirty old sock

We’re gonna wash your back

Then scrub your buttocks

We’re even gonna wash

Your dirty little cock

A PRAYER

Dear son

A month old today

We took you to pray

For health and happiness

Under the rising death ray

A cool mountain shrine

Massive cedars swaying above

Birds trilling in their leaves

Statues of dragons and monkeys

We washed our hands in a spring

Forgive us

Dear relaxed Japanese Buddhist mum

God cursing Atheist old dad

For swaddling you like Sweetpea

On this sweltering day

A portly fellow

In wooden clown shoes

And millennium old bathrobes

Chanted Dadaist poetry

And swished a wand of streamers

A cute maiden

Dressed as bamboo moon princess

Shook a wand of bells

Dabbed a drop of sake on your lip

And gave me two saucers to drink

Anxiety

We paid fifty bucks for a prayer

We paid fifty buck for a prayer

We paid fifty bucks for a prayer

Relaxation

The photos of us

By the giant orange gate

You in your robes

Curious onlookers

The bag of charms and ornaments

As if any of that could protect you more

Than the love and guidance we will give

CONFEDERATION GUNS

The road to Confederation

Began with a fusillade on July 1st

Scything down first-born sons

In sewn puttees and rifles bought on credit

For the Motherland whose cry they answered

Leaving orphans, widows, and siblings

Aimless, crying out under grief and debt

To the Motherland who answered them

By taking their nation on a cold March day

Ending with a fusillade on July 1^st

The road to Confederation