My Chinese Factory Worker

My Chinese Factory Worker

I turn the box over. There it is.
“Made in China” says the tag on the back.
Heavy sigh. “Of course,” I think to myself.
“Another worthless piece of junk.”

Suddenly my thoughts are transported
To a factory in China,
Where I secretly observe the worker as she
Speedily, but carefully places the sticker.

What are her thoughts as she works?
Is she imagining me, wondering
“What type of person is she?”
“Where will she place this in her home?”

Or, does her mind wander, anticipating
The visit from her mother-in-law
Who will obsess on her desire
For a grandchild?

Does she create scenarios about me,
How silly and stupid I am,
Believing that buying this useless,
Badly made picture frame

Will bring me happiness;
Will make my life complete?
Or is she struggling,
Trying not to worry about

Her ailing husband,
Home alone,
While she toils all day
To buy a bowl of rice?

Is she thinking of me, Hoping that
I will comprehend the value of this
Imperfectly made cell phone; will I
Understand that the value is in the connection?