MIT Poetry

Factory Girls

Tunney Lee

farm
girls
leave home
to escape
arranged marriages
making thirty-five cents an hour
assembling iPods and sewing skimpy bustiers
for without-a-clue teen-agers
ripping off rap songs
smoking pot
picking
at
 pimples

they
look
out from
their dorm rooms
at the gibbous moon
and can think only of lyrics
in sad Canto-pop songs longing for romantic love
while their parents left on the farm
gaze at the same moon
and know that
market
day
will
come with
the new dawn

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