Author Information
Not Poetry
I took the city
And called it Los Angeles.
I called the Palace ugly
And named the rest London.
Pompously,
I explained to the East Indian woman,
Not of East India
Where LA is.
I tried figuring out her English accent,
Making allowances for the English
Which remained alien.
And the British hate Europe,
So they became the most powerful of Europe.
They aren’t the most powerful
So they became Americans,
Hating us in their sophistication;
And loving us as they beg us towards the throne.
They’ll keep the crown.
And just to make the annexation complete,
England became a melting pot of races.
That or American-blue eyes are the most racist,
And the most believed tolerant.
And the little man with his sonnets
Was horrified;
This isn’t poetry!
Its meaning!
Not even cultured,
Just paradox.
Not even patriotic,
Just of nation(s).
