Shogo

He made me a pinky drink
called "First Kiss"
An appropriately smarmy name
For a host's offering to his
Intended prey

(It tasted of grapefruits
Rather than kisses)

He sported all the trappings
Of his trade
Pointy-toed shoes
Elaborate hair-set
A Givenchy lighter

(A D and G belt
To remind the ladies he was expensive.)

He was only just 21
But tall- quite tall,
with exemplary bones,
Perpetually amazed dark eyes,
And a rather prominent nose.

(His lips were lacking
Though the smile made up the losses)

He rountinely called
At all hours of the night
Quite a few times
I stole out into the small hours of Osaka
For graveyard shift trysts

(Hours were not hours in
The spaces he so enchanted)

Once, I spent 800 dollars on him
In just one evening
3 bottles of shochu. 2 sloppy kisses
1 game of darts lost
And a partridge in a pear tree

( A nice little burn
In credit card plastic)

He was a terrible braggart
Poor at speaking English
Hated having his hair touched
Had a bit of a belly from consuming
so much overpriced champagne

(And yet I found him
Damnably, undeniably charming)

Last I left him
Passed out in a karaoke box
With an apology note and my share of the tab
He tried calling me several times after
But I resolved not to answer.

(Host boys are an addiction
More expensive than any drugs)

I think now his club has
Since closed down.
That's how this sordid flattery trade goes
One month you are on top
And the next the whole thing is down and out

(Though his number is still programmed
Into my keitai phone)