A night, black-suited young men
sake smiling, jostling like little boys
released from office cubicles, swarm
the streets chirping like pet crickets.
Their camaraderie ignores short-skirted
girls in thigh-high boots, pink-pouty lips,
hair spiked in Kabuki-style angles of attention.
The boys’ fluorescent-pale faces light and fade
like Noh masks in the colors of passing signs.
Their jeweled eyes flicker with miniature screens
from storefront monitors. They play pachinko, sing
karaoke until hoarse, rice wine the moon down.
When their white shirts reflect cherry blossom dawn,
they swing oiled black briefcases toward home.
With ties undone, shoes scuffed, they board
trains, dizzy as their quaking, drunken earth.