“Your bill is due by the twenty-seventh of Sept…”, —
“Go fuck yourself!”, I interrupted. You could hear a
Cosmos of silence on the line and the billing department
At the hospital surely huddled around the phone on the
Other end of the line to listen in for what I was going to
Say next. I had to meditate silently and think of what my
Japanese cousins and friends would do.
So, I mode switched and began quoting all the Haiku I
Knew how to recite in the mother language. They tried
To interrupt but all I could do was start snapping my fingers
And tapping my feet as I sat there giving this piece of shit
Bill collector the audible rendition of all the beats and tempo
Of a thousand years of Japanese literature as it came fountaining
From my lips. It was love poetry too—almost sexual sounding.
I changed the tone of my voice too. The woman started stammering
As I lowered my voice and I suspect she was an anime fan
Because she started gasping at my tone. And then I hung up.
It was the performance of a lifetime and all I could do was refuse
Payment with a, “Domo Arigato Goazaimasu”, and a swift click of
The line and write you this little poem celebrating it!
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 