Tuesday, January 22, 2019

Tropical Beach, Okinawa

There are street speakers
Everywhere in Japan.
A soundtrack for your walk to work,
Even here at the beach
At the edge of this island.
I try to identify the difference
Between the beach here
And back at home.
It somehow feels more
The sand more noticeable
Under my feet.
Dead coral that still
Looks beautiful
When it’s dead,
Unlike most things.
A taxi driver smiles at me
Above his newspaper.
A woman gives me a tissue
Through the bathroom stall.
There aren’t any toilet paper dispensers.
Just used pads in the trash can.

It’s hard to describe the exact flavor
Of orange reflecting
On the water at dusk
And the sun dips
So fast it’s a race
Between the persimmon
Glazed water and
The light that binds us.
This is the only point in the day
Where I’m reminded
Just how fast the earth turns.
The sun falls
From Okinawa, Japan
Into the New York skyline.
The ferris wheel is in the distance now
Getting brighter
As the sun sets.
It doesn’t even turn, just lights up
Like a firework
And I never thought
I’d feel so relieved being away
From carnival lights.
This carnival was
Tequila sunrise
Pink cushioned VIP.
Young men
With 1 AM curfews,
Six years of
Ghosts in their rooms,
And wanting girls

Even more desperately than before.

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