The Writer & The Japanese Wife

His death was like watching a beached whale rot in the tropical sun -- Birds come, crabs go A stink that clings to clothes like a dumb young woman. The Japanese love bearded white men James Clavelle thought so The British Empire thinks so, But the writer turned professor knew. And now 35 years later There's just some old wild dogs And the Japanese wife Kept under lock and key Thawing out from the ice Eager through culture and tight wooden shoes to painfully enjoy every minute of grief, and no flesh, no touch, no downstairs rubs of pleasure against course long pubic hair, and pale short thighs. I'd put the dogs down, and fuck the first thing that looked, but that's just me And what do I write, but what I've done.