UNDERWEAR TOWN

A shabby area. This

city’s northeast outskirts.

Corrugated auto

body shops.

Corrugated warehouses.

A yard in which

aluminum scaffolding is

stacked. Mahjong parlor shacks.

Pachinko.

Once there was a

truck haphazardly parked.

Some drivers sometimes happily

ignore stop signs. Weather beaten

vending machines

stand each corner’s beat.

A drab scene, dusty, discarded,

very unpoetic,

I go there

midnight in my

underwear for

secret relaxation.

It’s a birdsong

that makes me

happy.

Scott Watson