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The Statue of
Liberty goes home to Brooklyn
She counts her money and decides
it's enough for today.
An invisible hand switches on
the lights in the city —
time to get off the pedestal, folks.
Her feet hurt.
It's been a long day standing,
holding the torch up high,
posing for small change,
and a tooth has been bothering her.
All those faces,
the roar
and shuffle of the crowds,
the tide
of all the people
and cars,
so tiring.
Oh, how she'd like to tell them
to fuck off,
each hand that clicks a camera,
each clueless smile,
C'mon, man,
get off my face.
You people don't know
each one of you is eating
through my bones.
At this point,
all she wants is
to go home and shower,
take off that crusty coat,
the gloves, the boots,
the heavy crown,
and let the green paint run
with all the city noise and smells,
run down the drain.
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