The Guns of Nevergonn

The Guns of Nevergonn

/crosses her legs,
sits as straight as London
or Seoul or a hard pack
of Lucky
Strikes or the chipped edge
of a window sill 
as if someone measures
her every angle
& kilogram
for market.

One leg over the other
she opens a carton of milk.

Machines thump
and thud like cannons or an apple
that falls to cold 
ground in winter
and that's all 
you hear, not
the soft tear of the cardboard
carton as her fingers pull
it open to triangle
and press it
to her dark red lips, no -
it's hiss and hump
in the coinmat
hump and hiss 
and pungent pee-cock piss
on the floor
and in the air.

Yung-su
likes to taste
ass says 
the graffiti next to her lips
as she lifts her head and turns
to the right,
drinks the white milk
in gulps. Your Korean
is not perfect - Yung-su
may eat or lick
or taste, but
whump, like Pyongyang artillery
whump, you think, start
the war
right now, unleash
the nukes (whump) and end
things in perfect art, one
terminal flash, preserve 
this ultimate moment
before the last drop
goes down her throat
before she turns
to face you, uncrosses her legs
and the cotton white
between them bursts
like a popped pimple.

The whole place stinks
of bleach and leg sweat
and stale 
milk
and every washer
is smeared with the soot
of subway excre
tion - heavy streaks
cloud the cloth
as it tumbles and rumbles
like American
jets. So
she is done. Looks at you
now and folds
the triangle shut
with three fingers
then tongue
to fatty lip
corpuscles
saliva
taste buds, licks herself
clean. What's in
there? Behind the dark
matte

...she stands, touches the wall
to balance on one leg 
like a preening flamingo, 
tugs at her shoe, runs
her hand along the back of her thigh,
smooths the skirt
looks straight
at you
expressionless
like the empty cream
walls, empty
save the dark scrawl
which dishonors poor Yung-su
and a spatter of red
near the back- blood or
lipstick or tomato
paste. Can it all.
Seal it and sell it
like sex on the streets. Legs
sell, lips sell, empty
milk cartons only find
their way into black trash bins
covered in used chewing gum
and condoms and click! One shoe
after the other she exits
slowly in heels, you
are alone
with the coinmat and a phone number
for Yung-su, the thunder
and rush of machines,
the white walls,
Seognam-Si life-
less and silent
like folded laundry or
eyelids after two days
without sleep. Tomorrow
you say, maybe close them
tomorrow.