The trouble started in Teramachi.

I dragged you through this arcade

of udon shops and pachinko parlours,

looking for a way, an exit,

to prevent the lid from flying off

your bubbling over mood.

You were tired or bored,

or you wanted an ice cream,

or should I have carried you?

You were like this in the late afternoons,

both infuriating and endearing,

a sour candy

that turns sweet in the end.

Your little summer tantrums,

your pouting, your huffing,

and the way I had to drag you

as the day gulped up

your half cup of patience,

I guess I didn’t know it then,

how being that infernal little girl

was your way of showing

your deepest need for me.


Copyright Ricky Barrow 2014


One thought on “Teramachi

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