6th Floor, Guro

Standard
I’m standing with my back

firmly against the fridge

holding a 1,500 won weight

moving it up and down

with my elbow as a hinge


Along with this exercise

I’m having Korean traditional

therapy which includes

cupping and acupuncture

some little brown pilloules


Through the grey filter

of a striped blind, I notice

red lights on tall buildings

warnings for all those

jets heading to Incheon


Here I am, alone on the

6th Floor but I rush to

check those red shining

lights and notice everyone

has put their rubbish out


I’m dressed for bed, my

teeth brushed and hopeful

face cream massaged in

but I whip off my night

clothes and dress again


I’m in the lift pushing

door close holding three

bags, two purple and

one yellow (that’s for

the food scraps)


Out I dash, across the

crossing, a lonely figure

as a green bus hurtles

towards me, they don’t

usually give way


But I make it in the glare

of sulphur yellow and

some sad neon and the

loneliness of a traveller

in the big smoke


earlier in the day I made

vegetarian lasagne for

my boy, whose lived

away from home forever

that’s what mothers do


I’m sharing this caring

with his wife’s mother

the two of us devoted

halmoni, bathing those

babies, feeding them

hugging each other


she’s so nimble and

young looking and

we don’t speak the

same language

but

of 

course 

we 

do …

4 thoughts on “6th Floor, Guro

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