Let’s celebrate the yoyo-makers.
Before you named it “Walking the Baby”
And “Cat’s Cradle,” our folks
Climbed trees, those agile monkeys,
Knocking down the day’s meal
With the world’s first yoyo
Created from twine, a skull-
Sized stone and the spittle
Of gods. What about that jeep
That bounced on the moon? We
Thought of that, too. From
The war’s heap you left behind.
When you first landed there
In ’69, bouncing like the kids
You are, tossing lunar balls,
Our Miss Philippines pinned on,
Demurely, Miss Universe’s crown.
She now rides horses, up and down,
Her makeup artist strategically
Throwing buckets of water
Between her breasts. We have more
Elvises than we can count. And of
Course, our very own Marie Antoinette,
Who has only you to thank
For the shape of her ankles.
We’re a graceful lot, you know.
Great dancers in G-strings,
Especially under dim red
Lights. We’d like to join you
Someday, very much. And so
We sway to our sad-sweet songs,
Longing to be the fifty-first appendix.
Till then we’ll fly your flag
Half-mast, over all the hot air
From that blasted god
Thrashing his chains, underground.
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