Take it off, Miss Liberty, all off. Show
battle scars behind your Dior shades, Nike
sweats, you know, the scars? Let our

throngs thrum our fingers along your
purpled mountain ridges, ropy maps hidden
under your regal robe, trace your liposuctioned

borders stretched across botched tummy tucks
of reconfigured states of blue and red. Go! Cross
this tired harbor, lead-footed, lean into East,

embrace tyranny, drop your mighty tablet
so you can grasp your crown of light, forget
old steamers, over-filled with displaced persons

rescued by Merchant Marines, why linger? Fade now,
stumble into the setting sun, leave your children here
to keep the torch of freedom afloat in your dirty wake.