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Natsuya Kobayashi Poem
I, too,
wish to carry a bullet
for the ducks flying through snow.
I, too,
want to live under neon lights—
blue light still my closest friend.
I, too,
take cold showers
until my hands stop shaking,
snapping red like nerves.
I, too,
clasp my hands after killing a mosquito,
even if blood and genes mean nothing.
I, too,
walk through mist,
loving the snails that move slow like me.
I, too,
carry an apple in my throat.
If the mic drips with honey,
I’ll recline and listen in silence.
Do we truly see eye to eye, or merely pretend to align?
A prayer-like wind passed through me.
If only time can solve this,
how could I not
I, too,
want to type without thinking.
If I press the TAB key,
maybe summer and fall will appear.
I, too,
bury my face in my frontal lobe,
whispering “today, for sure,”
until it stops being a lie.
I, too,
wanted cherry blossoms.
Who swept the petals away before I arrived?
I almost asked aloud—
but there was no one to answer.
Copyright © Natsuya kobayashi | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Natsuya Kobayashi Poem
I waxed the floor too carefully—
the classroom still blue with youth I left behind.
Fresh chalk lined up like teeth I inhaled and exhaled.
Suspicion wore me like a suit, choking tight at the neck.
The sun laughs, burning
“BE CHEERFUL!” in bubble letters on my back—
a bright villain.
Sharpen your pencil. Bring it here.
My mouth tastes sour: the flavor of obligation.
Before I was “Mr. Kobayashi,”
they called me by my name.
My dream came true.
The cherry blossoms fell.
Homework comes and goes, chasing me—
a smiley-stamp squeals, “Run faster!”
First year, teaching six-year-olds—
even a “yes” earns praise I secretly crave.
The glittery schoolbag makes it home.
Blink—and it stings.
1 p.m. Dust and crumbs rest beside lockers.
Adulthood is a job done alone.
Is that person a teacher?
Ignored.
The wall map folds on the wrong side—hard to read.
The clock begins its second lap,
stealing emotion without sound.
Too much love for a task meant for sleep.
Let the world be kind—and nothing more.
That mouth, always preaching “gossip is wrong,”
speaks it fluently in the teachers’ lounge.
“Until you get used to it,” they say—
this drink is 17% proof.
I no longer know who I’m teaching.
Fake praise grows from spit.
Just for today—don’t let them find me out.
Even sunlight is cruel to an insomniac chameleon.
I laugh at the brightness in a student’s face—
but my throat is fading. Please, a candy.
Let’s find something nice about a classmate—
not “a friend.” Be honest.
Getting up. Putting on socks.
Twenty minutes gone—Tuesday morning.
“Left foot, right foot”—they still don’t know.
Neither do I.
A child grips scissors like fangs—
eyes daring, wild.
“Do what you like. This place will keep spinning.”
Every day: medicine.
There’s money. I have limbs.
Summer break is coming.
Our alphabet grows sharper—
soft curls to spiked edges.
They say we need new shoes.
So what?
Dandelion roots are thick.
You can eat them.
I close the textbook.
Hold the fluff in my hands.
Night and black—indistinguishable.
A simple job—forgotten at home,
still there.
Copyright © Natsuya kobayashi | Year Posted 2025
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