I slave for you

I, invisible
in Pagoda Park
in the scent
of Seoul's Air,
am your slave.

I toil for you
I, visible behind
rust-dyed iron bars
red greasy buttons,
keep your country
tidy and neat.

I trudge daily
with aching soul
to that cramp space
in Incheon, in Pusan,
where gold footprints
are rare sightings

and where slaves
like me are made
invisible. I, who
sweat for you
for the won you

dangle listlessly
before my arid eyes so
I punish my body,
I punish my memories,
forgetting how
freedom tastes like,

as it feeds my hunger
I bleed for you.
I, visible in
welfare reports,
in election speeches,
in casualty stats,

in dollar amounts
for my awaiting masters
as I slave for you:
a habit I've grown to
in the place I left
where slaves like me

are daily born

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