Bando and the Blowfish
Of hubris, overweening pride,
(a thing the gods can not abide)
and all the hassle it may bring:
of this, and blowfish, do I sing.
The former, we will meet anon
(it merits being mused upon,
are hardly handed on a platter):
accordingly, we'll take the latter.
The blowfish ("fugu" - Japanese)
enjoys a life of idle ease.
When menaced - as his name suggests -
(to ward off foes) puffs out his chest.
Another little trick he has
("defensive posture", all that jazz)
is, if he's eaten, it's his humour
to poison (hugely) his consumer.
How Bando Mitsugoro (the eighth)
was turned into a wretched wraith
will be our theme. A living treasure?
The humble fugu had his measure!
Kabuki actor, Bando was.
Revered throughout Japan, because
he was the latest in a line
of famous actors, half-divine.
The fugu's flesh is fairly fab,
far fitter for a feast than crab
or shark-fin. Sharp Ketana blade,
the finest in the cutler's trade,
is used to slice the fish so thin,
you hold it up, lets daylight in.
The poison adds a frisson more,
to thrill the jaded epicure.
For years the fugu chef must train,
avoiding eyes, heart, liver, brain:
a little poison titillates,
but too much means the Pearly Gates!
But Bando was the kind of man
who says, "Who can't? I know I can!"
He ordered up a dainty dish:
four livers of the fugu fish.
The poison doesn't touch the brain.
You're dying slowly, but remain
awake throughout. The living treasure
could die (and could repent) at leisure.
So if you're feeling braggart-ish,
and in a restaurant that's swish,
impressing others is your wish,
remember Bando and his fish.
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment