Twenties

Ms. Columbia spins
her webby narrative
like a corrupted Athenian
           princess,
Her cotton strands
           of luxuriant fashion;
Her glossy advert
           paper folds
are perfume smelling.
Her bottom is round
           looking perfect
from every angle,
Ever only looked at
           through this Capital
                       lens
Disseminated like a
           perverse fractal
Rocks the pen
           that strips,
Dictating how the
           mosses
           pile up.
Corroded copper idol;
           can’t I eat you,
Overthrow your Andrew
           Jackson grease
And erect a Harriet
           Tubman?


Chillicothe

A face full of shadow crawling upwards
On the road on a hill, where roadless folks
Once roamed, genocided in a drama
Which portrays its legend romantically,
And children wa-wa at the memory.