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Hand to hand


Namu Amida Butsu?
What in blazes was that supposed to mean?
Don’t I get a  ‘Banzai!’?

No. There’s no more banzai in you.

Didn’t expect the bayonet did you?
I could see that in your eyes.
Isn’t that what you yellow monkeys are after?
Good Aussie steel?
Well you got your bit Shinto.

Bloody hell! Another chill.
Don’t tell me the malaria’s coming back.
If it’s not that it’s the dysentery.

Oh ho, what’s this?
Shame I don’t read the lingo.
Probably just letters from home anyway.
And … Oh …

That must be your house
Nice. But it looks a bit flimsy.
You should see the one me and Marg are building out at Lane Cove
Brick veneer, lock up garage, all mod cons
A good solid place for a good solid girl.
That’s what I told her.

The lady with the willow in her hand. Your wife?
Yeah, she’s pretty enough alright.
I think she misses us.
I wonder what her name … her name …

What …? Hang on a mo. Huh?

I’ll just put these back in your pocket, Tojo old son.
Next to your heart.
Sorry about the stains.
I don’t know where all the blood keeps coming from.

It’s one of them Jap swords!

You people make such beautiful …
Its so … its so …
I’ve never held anything …
Too bad we couldn’t  …
getting dark …
I only … again … Marg? …
beautiful … so clear …
pure …

From → racism, slash poetry

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