In Guangdon Province a young father rises early
for work at Doubleeagle Industry Limited, where

he operates the plastic-injection molding machine.
It is rote, if loud and dangerous work, and he passes

the time thinking of his wife and daughter in Wukan,
how the docked fishing boats rise and fall on the ocean’s

sleeping chest, the crashing waves like muffled snoring.
He does not dream of children playing with plastic ships

and cranes, will never meet my son a world away, where,
with a click, I pay $20 for a miracle to unfold: a father

gets to work, a machine whirls to life, pilots and truckers
rush about their jobs, a child unwraps a box. 800 million

escaped poverty this way, I think, as a dump truck loads
the broken toy, the driver waves hello, the sun rises early…