Hey Karl---2/13

Today, I am an angry socialist bitch.
--db.

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Hey Karl

Karl Marx, I'm beginning to feel
the metaphorical sickle and hammer
get tattooed on my forehead
as I stand in line at the finiancial aid office.
I chose to be a scavenger,
keying Hummers and fucking lawyer's kids.
WATCH OUT!
I'm coming for your sons
and for days, all you'll see is me outside your bay windows
waving a red flag,
wearing your wife's discarded Lacoste polo.
You can't miss me if you tried.

It's after work, I count my tips
as the radio puts it's tongue in my ear.
No one can escape the weasels
that sneak in through the television set
attacking our faces,
leaving numbers bleeding from our eyes and mouths.

Sister Capitalist is a high-class whore
she gives us another set of eyes, cheap
cellophane 3D glasses
to humiliate the proletariat.
She tucks us in
and sings us a lullaby of 800 numbers.
Everything is
as it is meant to be.