The women on my television
discuss the nature of their beauty,
but women at Grand Central Station
uphold the beauty of their nature.
The folks arriving from the suburbs
believe that it’s worth all the trouble,
although the staggeringly wealthy
prefer to stay inside their bubbles
I give the Golden Rule a whirl:
I let a thousand flags unfurl.
Some kids were sent into the discos
with dynamite inside their school bags.
Some kids were on their way to college,
but then they wound up in the army.
Across the ever-widening aisle,
the stone-deaf and didactic lawyers
must put down Robert’s Rules of Order
and go pick up their sons and daughters.
We need more than two separate worlds:
so! let a thousand flags unfurl.
There goes a crowd of bargain hunters
into a geodesic crock pot.
There lives inside this rubber jungle
what’s left of some reviled junta.
Here comes back foxtrot, waltz and samba.
Here comes back Boy George and La Bamba.
Here sits unmoved my purple mantle.
my burlesque show is never cancelled.
I’m waiting for the boys and girls
who let a thousand flags unfurl.