Boys secondhand pants

From a mother they came

to a mans son

Denim camouflage sheaths, for the two swords

of a boy

Legs that would carry him into battle with

lizards, spiders, girls, a fear of darkness and

even other boys.

Carefully stitched twice over by

likely

some other mother with weathered skin

and calloused fingers, in a noisy foreign factory

who smiled gently as she toiled, imagining her own boy

in the brand she couldn't afford to buy him.

Midway down, spacious spare pockets that would

inevitably

become airplane hangers, archaeological digs, boat slips, reptile internment facilities, holsters and

botanical gardens

and a cuff at the bottom

for lapping up the dust on the tops of mountains.

Who could ever know what is in store for

these cotton tools.

The running ladies of Myeonmok-dong

At quarter to eight in the morning in Seoul
there's a sound that is rather intriguing
a curious staccato that cuts through the bustle
created by leather fatiguing

Young women from Myeonmok, due east of the gate-
to Gimpo, just south of the Han
spent five minutes longer, perhaps than they should've
in putting their eyelashes on

So now they are racing to make it to stations
to clock in and sit and be functional
but busses and trains do not tolerate tardiness;
Korea's relentlessly punctual

Thus asphalt is clapping their flats on the sole
reminiscent of greenway applause
I do hope they make it in time to their office
avoiding potential faux pas