Salt for the Table, Steam for the Air

                                                 for Xu Lizhi (1990–2014)

There was a young poet at Foxconn
whose life went into a box.
On its day of release, you could see the police
keeping people in line.

And there’s his coffin riding the orange
conveyor belt of his youth,
and the mourners in pink work-suits,
each adding her spark or screw…

It is overtime tonight. The tears
fall through an aluminum funnel
and pass through a network of tubes:
salt for the table, steam for the air.

His poem on my phone replies
Who touches this touches a man.
This thing of power. When it dies
we plug it into the wall.