Three Poems

Panmunjom

We were required to sign a waiver
and took in warning after warning.
Do not point. Do not use a zoom lens.
Do not under any circumstances
step across the raised concrete line.
‘Do not throw ash over cooked rice,’
murmured Yun, looking to the hills.
But once our tour group was ushered
into one of the squat blue buildings
straddling the border, in which stood
just one guard in a rifle-green uniform
and sunglasses under a round helmet
white with Hangul, the authoritarian
tone relaxed. ‘Now you may cross.’
We all did so, filling another gigabyte
...