A typhoon is closing in tonight
Still,on streetcorners of Ikebukuro
Exotic butterflies linger,
Thin skirts and umbrellas
Fluttering with the gusts.

They have traveled the same
northward path
As the typhoon.
They know his bluster well
And are not easily talked
Into flying from their spots.

The storm that wells
In a man's pocket may sweep
One away, strip her wings.
Yet such storms soon pass

Leaving us back
On windblown streets