sip their tea and whisper
as a coworker goes by,
"Kanno-jo we kurisumasu
kekki, so desho-ka," meaning
"She's a Christmas Cake, yes?"
They hold their hands up
to their mouths and laugh.
I ask my guide Miss Sato
what it means, and she says
"Shoppers only want to buy their
Christmas Cakes before December
25th, after that they're useless!
And so also the saying goes, no
man looking for a wife will want
one over twenty-five years old."
Then noticing my ringless hand
and graying temples, Sato San
sets down her cup and bows.
"Sorry, Sumimasen," she says.
"That's OK, Daijobu desu,"
I tell her, not in the least offended,
only--by that calculation--
several decades stale.
Later, in the Ladies Room, I see
the object of their scorn, applying
liberal make-up with the deft hand
of a geisha to her young and lovely
face, making lashes long and curled,
cheeks bright, unsmiling lips plum-pink
and full. She sees me in the mirror,
says in perfect English: "At least they
can't say I'm not good at frosting."
(c)M. Lee Alexander 2007
from Observatory finishing line press
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