Like metropolitan troubadours of the neon night

You gather at the Monk to listen and recite

All the joy and pain you could possibly write

Down in the intervals of Pusan’s noisy night

Sharing amidst laughter, the expatriate’s plight

Bitching about the predicaments of Korean life

(The struggles, the dilemmas, the loss of your wits)

You spread English poetry where it barely fits

Making love with words where so few exist

Since the bust you gave up the back-alley hits

But still split pitchers that give you the shits

Pulling your street snacks from splintered sticks

Always on the lookout for some kind of trick

Laughing at fights where nobody gets licked

Playing hopscotch at rotaries to avoid the spit

(Discharged fluid, puke, piss, snot, and trash)

But don’t get drunk and kick somebody’s ass

They’ll incarcerate you and revoke your pass

(Cancel your visa, deport you, slap your face)

Still you dip your lives in red pepper paste

Shuffling through streets in perpetual haste

Filling your pockets with more-than-you-can-take

To your manners fastening whatever-the-case

Swallowing your pride whenever you lose face

Earning stacks of eight-dollar paperweights

Cursing the worthless currency exchange rate

Stifling the desire to escape without a trace

(Leave, get away, go and flee the scene forever)

Cuz now you know to crosswalk between fenders

So you arrive at the Monk to share said splendors

Within minutes you’ve begun to tie on a bender

Thumping your tolerance til it’s no longer tender

(Liquored, buzzed, sauced, shit-faced is the rule)

Smoking This instead of that is culturally cool

You’ve found the extinction of outdoor pools

Seen caravans of taxis waiting in line for fuel

Been stuck doing repairs with next-to-no tools

Pissed to witness men who treat women cruel

Tried hard not to smack those patriarchal fools

Slave-labored at underfunded language schools

And spewed stupid exceptions to English rules

Guys, look out! You’ll get jabbed in the jewels

(Or poked in the crack, the butt, rump, or rear)

By finger-wielding kids too short for their years

You have to laugh at your tickled-fickle fears

To ignore and brush off the gawkers and jeers

So you gather at the Monk to toast a cheers

And tell the Traveler’s Tale to knowing ears

Of fellow expats who buy rounds of beers

All drinking away the frustrations and tears

Fucking away the insecurity that perseveres

Or hastily escaping from non-specific queers

(Suspicious, same-sex hand-holders outside bars)

You look up at night to see pink but no stars

At times you’re annoyed by the honks of cars

The street smells and drunk yells are never far

A pickled symphony from a peninsular jar

Just switch to autopilot if your life comes ajar

Bury yourself in work and play hard at the bar

Your two million per month is just about par

(Give or take, more or less, expenses are negligible)

You melt with envy and lust the sexually eligible

You smile and nod at the mumbling unintelligible

Pledge your head to make sense of the nonsensical

(The insanity, the craziness, the hanboks on whores)

Are you still seeking things never seen before?

Seeing them and smiling but still wanting more?

Or wishing at times you hadn’t opened the door?

Have you gotten used to a mattress on the floor?

(yog-wan or aparta? It depends what they put in it)

And so you strive for a life with mostly good in it

But are compelled to do things you usually wouldn’t

Go places that in your country you surely couldn’t

Consume food and drinks that you probably shouldn’t

(Soju and ram-yon, kim-chi, dog soup with rice)

Oh, Metropolitan troubadours of the neon night

You serenade the city’s ho-humming lights

Hoping to showcase your creative insights

Just nibbling away at the big city that bites

(It’s a vicious city, big and dirty, all the time)

Who am I to say that I can see such signs?

My long lost friends still remember the times

I taught all privates but never faced crimes

Made visa runs for years but never paid fines

Sipped gin and whiskey but wouldn’t taste wine

When it came to bongs, I always made mine

On an autobike in traffic, I didn’t waste time

I witnessed wild wrecks and once aced mine

My fondness was obvious for slim waistlines

I knew some moves, had that reverse baseline

Oh metropolitan troubadours, how you shine!

I strode those streets too, once upon a time

I wore shoes like you but never laced mine…

Oh metropolitan troubadours, how you shine!

Keep living and loving and daring to rhyme

(Performing songs, your poems, prose, and stunts)

Making amplified waves on stage at the Monk

In crowded but comfortable, cool, cohesive funk