The Japanese Ladies

This morning’s music at my favorite station
didn’t sing —
the voices as so often scratchy, the words
beaten down with a thump ter thump.
Like prosey poems
full of concepts, so easy to get lost.
So in the world
the music seems gone.
no evocative sounds, no music at all.

Then at The Dragonfly coffee shop
three women talk to one another:
a sonorous la lahh la
bubbling over stones.
A dipper listens bobbing the while,
ready to waltz in a mountain stream.

• A dipper is a bird, Pacific Dipper

Robert A. Davies has published in recent years largely online. He has been writing poems seriously since 1969. He has published Timber, Tracks in Oregon, Melons and Mendelssohn, and Bluff Hollow. He was co-editor of Mr. Cogito for about 20 years. He has recently appeared in Dissident Voice and Windfall He can be reached at: Read other articles by Robert A..