From Japan, my son texts:
Hey mom, I heard the Clash playing in a Starbucks this morning
and I thought of you. I bought a Bush is not my president
t-shirt yesterday and I visited Hiroshima
and cried for three hours. I'll be home soon.
I asked him had he heard of Mishima the poet
who committed seppuku when his country demonized him
for training young men to be Samurai
long after WWII.
Mishima and I have some things in common.