Functional origami in April 1950
saw 8 Japanese bending over
folding paper into little bags
for covering fingertip-sized green loquats
against sucking weevils.
It was no ordinary paper, however.
It was pages of old magazines
extolling Japan's heyday in China
and with recipes for making the most
of the limited ingredients at hand
as the war progressed.
The bag tally of oldest son, Kensuke,
suffered from his reading the pages
and making cynical comments
about Japanese optimism
before and during the war.
Later that night, best folder, widow Etsuke,
put up no resistance to first time sex
with her father-in-law.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem