So this poem is titled "Oblivious Imperialism
is the Worst Kind."
"Is hobo short for something?
I just got called one.
Someone recently said, hey, your nails are beautiful,
but the rest of your outfit is just OK.
Glamour is my great love, but it's too expensive and too much
work.
My beautiful glittered nails are my homage to glamour.
Every time I hear an interview with a fashion model
talking about how hard her job is walking
up and down the runway, up and down, so much walking,
I become very tired in my vicarious glamour fatigue,
and I must nap.
Everyone around the world knows America's real fashion
statement is bullet holes.
Every single day, we spray the Arab world with bullets,
sometimes in the faces of babies.
We don't have special little bullets for the baby faces.
They have to take our adult-sized bullets
right in the middle of their little crying baby faces.
Bam, take that, baby.
It's American fashion."