Somewhere Over Rainbow Foods

I saw a young, short-haired Japanese girl
in Rainbow Foods—
a splitting image of Jun Togawa,
leather jacket, a somewhat masculine figure,
I would've married her right
then and there.
The BBW staff were haranguing around
a cart, speaking
Japanese as far as I was not concerned.
Everyone kept looking at me and my damned red hat
"It's not effeminate, it's from New Zealand!" I said in protest.
The BBWs took no notice,
"Why don't you get out and occupy Minneapolis? Oh, wait,
you already are." Jun then caught my eyes
with her own—those mystic, paroxysmal 8-balls
for merely a second,
straight down the aisle perpendicular to the bench from where
I sat.
I stood up, the soft-pop-rock dulling
my nonentity, non-senses,
"Nonsense," I mumbled, or something like it,
words transfixed, translated into pure emotion,
transliterated into memory.