Volume Four, Issue 3

J.T. Lee

L’Orient St

This town is not exotic enough.
Leaves have withered, and trees grown bald.
Road work disturbs the morning traffic.

White noise dispatched from the radio
In an endless cycle of time
Makes the truck driver miserable by the hour.

The fucked up dragon on the side of his truck
Laughs, or does it spew fire, it’s hard to tell.
The Oriental symbol sick, suffering from midgetry
and micro rice that won’t fuck up your English.

The lepredragon laughs while the leprechaun
Grabs its ass. The grey needs jewels and bellydancers
En masse. The imaginarium is almost complete
As we exit the fantastical and exotic L’Orient Street.

Korean Girl

the girl sitting by the window, drawing
a house with a white picket fence,
is not retarded, she is Korean with
long black hair.

next to the house mommy and daddy
stand, waiting for their baby.
in the back is the mandatory flagpole
flaunting their indisputable patriotism
to a vaterland where adoption macht frei.

in the right upper corner, the sun smiles yellow,
and in the left, a FedEx plane takes off.
a van will pull up, bringing a package
marked “fragile” and “this side up.”

daddy will sign the papers while mommy
unwraps the china doll from a land
far, far away.

J.T. Lee: "I am an Unidentified Fuming Oriental and a poet anonymous. I write when lightning strikes and educates for a living.”

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