A prophetic wind blew.
We had landed not in Oz, but in
The land of the ginkgo tree,
Rice paddies & kimchi.
Half new, but old & true
To a traditional standard of
Morals & values that hold
Its men, women & children
In the palms of God’s own
Hands. There were no babies
With babies up or down its
Streets, no gangsters or guns
Threatening the republic it
Greets. Rich men, poor men,
Villages in between, store
Fronts, peddlers & violence
Unseen. From Incheon to Itaewon
Was but a different sight to see,
East Asian versions of what
We call American dreams.
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