Men in Disguise at Book Signings
“Did your husband write all these books?”
He was in the audience a few minutes ago.
Yet, here he stands in his three piece designer suit
Scanning book titles with furrowed brows.
“Idiot,” I didn’t say, “Would I be sitting here,
Two hours on my hemorrhoids
Signing someone else’s books
With carpal tunneled fingers?”
At Barnes & Noble in Hawaii,
The FBI disguised in a loud Aloha shirt,
A wilted orchid lei, a camera strapped like a gun
Interrogates me.
“You wrote these books?”
Not satisfied, he grills me over hot coals again.
“You? You wrote all these books?”
Ready to turn the lamp on me,
He turns to his partner.
“Martha? Martha? Come on over.
She said she wrote all these books!”
Expecting the click of handcuffs,
Water boarding or worse,
I remain silent.
A man in his black robe
Sits on the Court bench.
The Advertiser news story of my poetry book
Spread across his lap.
“A Japanese woman publishing poetry…
No Japanese man” he prophesized,
Is ever going to date her.
She crossed over into the Haole ( white) world
With this poetry book.”
Yes, Your Honor.
Japanese. Woman. Poet.
Guilty as charged.
Frances Kakugawa
