Present Day Shinobi
By Carsten Cheung
You’d think it’d be
super cool,
but actually
there are many downsides
to being a modern day ninja.
First of all,
it’s not even by choice.
Like ancient Asian prophecy
foretold by American
fortune cookie,
your destiny is decided
at birth.
Black hair?
Dark almond-slanted
shaped eyes?
Male? (especially eldest child)
You are Ninja.
(Exotic-Lotus Ninja if born female).
Nevermind that
the only silent
and
deadly,
you’d ever get from me
is the gas
from my ass.
I’m not even Japanese.
But don’t tell that to
the people pointing,
whispering behind
my back, like they’re
the sneaky ninjas,
throwing daggers—
“hi-yah!”
Or,
“Hey, Ching-Chong,
show me your chop suey!”
Which is stupid,
cuz that isn’t even real
Chinese food,
like orange chicken.
Yum.
The other thing is,
even though you suck
at stealth,
you’re never really
seen or heard.
It’s like there’s no need
for arduous, years
of training. You are
naturally invisible.
So you make a mental note:
Don’t sweat it when
other dudes walk past you,
bumps into you, all hard and
offensive. Like they mean it.
Nope. Not personal.
You’re just in the shadows,
so it’s not really their fault.
The only good thing?
The silver lining?
Halloween is awesome.
Cost-effective.
All I gotta do is open up
my sliding rice paper
bamboo walk-in closet door,
pick out my silkiest
pair of pjs,
cut out eyeball holes
in my ski mask,
and BOOM!
Instant ninja like
instant ramen noodle.
Then, at the Halloween party,
when your friends attempt a compliment,
“Cool ninja costume!”
You wave them off, like
wise old sage, and correct them:
“Nah. I’m you, the white guy
masquerading innocently as Ninja,
but in reality, ignorant you’re
appropriating my ethnicity,
offending my ancestors,
wearing my culture like
a fun little costume.”
Then, when your well-meaning,
well-intentioned friends gasp
and feel sufficiently uncomfortable,
you throw your head back,
stroke your wispy-white beard
and laugh.
“Me Chinese, me play joke,
me go pee-pee in your Coke!”
You toss a smoke bomb,
and POOF!
A delicious, matcha flavored
emerald cloud-explosion.
And you vanish
without a trace.
Carsten Cheung lives in Los Angeles with his family and works as an educator. He has published poetry in Stink Eye Magazine and In Parentheses Magazine. When not reading or writing things, he can be found on a quest seeking out the perfect chocolate chip cookie.