“Oh, We Be Few, Oh, We Be Few,” She Huffed
Go softly to the Disneyland Hotel,
Its simulacral threshold grown sublime:
The bedrooms all emit that new car smell,
Like nothing else in bourgie Anaheim.
Where leftist brownies get our mothers high,
Humanity is poorly led, forsooth—
In Eisenhower’s shadow lies the lie;
In Soviet-run brothels lies the truth.
Henceforth let odorous intensities
Of talkativeness, torture, filth, and death
Stiffly arouse posh, gilded melodies
Beethoven might have come up with on meth.
The tawdry footsteps of a bawdy Goth
Are footsteps washed in washed-up Oshkosh broth.
An Anagram of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 3