indignant
over the way his daughter
is treated by her boss,
all he can do is bang
the computer keys by fours

they ask him
for an introduction at
the Old Timers Club
showing the level of his Japanese
he sings a grade school song and bows

even
the Prime Minister’s
face at the grilling
seems practiced
for the multitudes

I prune juice
my way through three
kyoka
recalling the tall glasses
my wife’s father drank

at the conference
sitting on Japanese mats
and focusing,
finds two small holes
in his brown corduroy crotch