Like any foreigner, he thinks first
of the song, the pudgy rodeo clown,
lewd confetti vomited on the mall roof.
The Apgujeong store fronts flash
diamond teeth, neon kaleidoscope.
The Supreme Leader of North Korea
is a ferris wheel, drunk with light
and rage. What they have let happen.
The Supreme Leader buys a pork bun
and catches himself thinking
of champagne trickling
down a pert breast.
A group of firefly women walks by,
slathered in imperialist tinsel.
They giggle. The Supreme Leader
smoothes his shirt and whispers
an old worker song, asks his father
for forgiveness, tries
to swallow this city’s pill.
It goes down like a disco ball –
shattered, and kicking.
