Soapland Denied

Euphemisms brimming with cuteness
Brimming with imagined delights
Little piles of salt, folded paper
Guard the door, a whispered curse
No fakku, no fakku
The front desk scolds
Ascribing unseemly lusts to the unclean heathen
Hope shines like through a barely open door
Alas, the manager appears
Intones the once-stinging refrain
Now merely a slap on numb flesh
Gaijin dame, gaijin dame
A priest exorcising demons
A talisman held at arm's length
No foreigners
We don't want your kind here
No shoulder to cry on
No sympathetic ear
Why would you want that anyway?
That's not for you
That's not for people like you

April is National Poetry Writing Month

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