This is my portrait of America in plastic surgery procedures:
a new nose for George Washington.
America, behold his new nose!
The Grand Canyon, too deep—
who can understand its great perspective these days?
Rock and stone are too slow;
actions need to start right away.
Let’s add a fucking car chase ride over the edge and back
as scary as a Texas heart attack.
Alabama, you have a fat ass.
Let me fix that for you now.
Minnesota, your tits are starting to sag.
Do you think a Midwestern cowboy
will want to look at that,
do you think he’ll want to grab that sag, you hag?
Instinct tells us that variations on the infinite are finite.
Science tells us that the number of days in one’s youth is limited.
So bend up instead of down, America.
William Howard Taft can now touch his toes.
Ronald Reagan will lose the wrinkles
around his eyes and make the rich even richer—
that’s right, the money still goes to the biggest assholes.
A face tightened like plastic will last
just as long as plastic and will inherit the earth
along with all the profits.
A face peeled like an apple will grapple
with enemy combatants who seek
to destroy the land of your birthday suit,
America, one nation under a plastic surgeon’s knife.
America, state your rights, bleach your teeth,
bleach your mind and your anus
will have no choice but to follow.
America, as the bible belt expands
the wrinkles run from east to west
though we have tried to keep them from spreading
by tweeting as often as we can.
The plastic surgeon is our pied piper.
He can’t keep up, he’s not getting it all done.
He hasn’t rested in over two hundred years.
But today, he puts down his knife; he looks down upon us,
he takes a sharp-focus picture;
then takes the time to consider the great skill he wields
with his slightly wrinkled fingers.
Photograph by Jose Padua