ど田舎　Country Livin’

For the past two years I’ve led a life rather different from my past,
But as the moons wax and wane, sometimes I wonder if I’ll last.
For country living is agreeable to some, at times it makes me rage,
The tall and lofty mountains shift and fizzle rendering something of a cage.
I dream back to my days in Greenwich Village, wandering streets without a care,
Popping in to cafes and stores to see if there’s anything new to wear.

But in the mountains on one’s lunch break there’s not so much to do,
You can stare blankly up at the mountains or count a cloud or two.
You can walk along the narrow streets which in New York we’d call the gutters,
You can admire the Japanese houses with their teeny windows nice and tightly shuttered.
You can flatten yourself against the walls as the white cars go zooming by,
You can say hello to the man who wears a kappa everyday, whom you’ve dubbed the “kappa guy.”
You can listen to the mental rooster who crows despite the fact it’s almost noon,
You can hear him cry, “THERE’S NOTHING TO DO!” or on his more eloquent days the word “JEJUNE!”
You can go for a walk in the cemetery since there’s not much else worth seeing,
You can watch the man and his dog out for a walk, both simultaneously peeing.
You can then turn and look away quickly, pretending not to notice,
And instead appear deeply intrigued in that beautiful sculpture of a lotus.

You can watch the mountains disappear when the skies begin to cry,
And think mournfully about your laundry that you stupidly left outside to dry.
You can turn back to the urinating man and wonder why he couldn’t wait,
There was a Lawson just down the road outside the cemetery gate.
You can listen to the stressed out teacher who sighs deeply in distress,
You can hear as his head smacks the desk rendering it a mess.
You can go outside to weed with the children, thank goodness you learned a bit of Japanese,
As full sentences said in English tends to make them freeze.
You can go for a run outside as it seems sunny and fairly warm,
Only to be a mile away from your home when it begins to storm.
You can run back on home in the torrential rain as your shirt becomes wet and soggy,
Watching the drizzle fill the rice paddies and the trails in the water left by a big, fat froggy.
You can be grateful for the rain, at least it dissuades the bugs from flying,
Into your face, most often your mouth, which whilst running can be a bit trying.

You can go to the supermarket which in Japan we call a suupa,
Full of oddly sized fruit, octopus, pre-made sushi all advertised by a koopa troopa.
If you’re still lacking in things to do, you can check out the nearby combinis,
Stand there and read manga or magazines full of girls dressed in nothing but bikinis.
If that doesn’t quite do the trick, you could always hop on a train,
To go somewhere else an hour or so away that looks exactly the very same.

But when all of this is said and done, it doesn’t matter about your daily plan.
When push comes to shove, it still remains true that you love living in Japan.