©2010,2016,2020 Vernon Miles Kerr, vernonmileskerr.com
She is more than huge, she is blatantly contradictory.
She’s American-ish, but Japanesey;
Familiar but exotic;
Traditional but wildly avant garde.;
Savoring but guzzling;
Giddily young but staidly elderly.
Near Shinjuku station it’s girls in blue jeans
And tiny kimono-clad matrons popping into Starbucks.
This immigrant from Seattle sits amid metallic, glitzy structures
And Times Square shaming electric signage.
There is no downtown but a dozen downtowns
Strung like beads around the circling Yamanote Line.
We jump on and off like locals, sampling each one.
Ikebukuro, Ueno, Okachimachi, Akihabara .
Later the bullet train pulls into Shin-Yokohama,
Long, low and unapologetically futuristic.
It’s the 6:00 o’clock bound for Kyoto.
We grab a Mc Donalds before boarding.
A few blocks away, in a tranquil garden
A herron dips its beak
And sends the moon gyrating .