From Empire: Triolet, with Recycled Paper Placemat and Coaster Set

7

My country’s rolled-up newspapers adorn your Formica counter;
and on the margins of the export processing zone, a child takes
a soldier by the hand, says: Virgin, Joe? I take you to my mother.
My country’s rolled-up newspapers adorn your Formica counter.
One man’s trash, another’s treasure: as long as the middleman’s offer
translates to cash for food, shelter. Fair’s fair, not just for those who take.
My country’s rolled-up newspapers adorn your Formica counter.
Destitute, on the margins— how blame the child for what she takes?

 

In response to Via Negativa: Poem for Display in a Shopping Mall Food Court.

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