Oh Isabella
Seven years at your court
Underdog that you’ve been
Throw me a bone
I’ll bring you back a souvenir
The orient’s wonders will bedazzle your bosom
And knock the socks off your taste buds
Come now, doesn’t someone owe you money?

Alas, the Asian Isle
And pushover friends
Oh Arawak, Oh Navidad
The days of milk and honey
My queen will love these parrots
Now get back to the stream
And find me shiny things

Oh coral reef, you cut me
Like I did the tongues of dissenters
This island is nice, but I’m looking for spice
My backers grow wary
Like the backs of the savages
So I pack them like pemmican
Scant collateral for gold
You won’t need moccasins where you’re going

What a good Christian I am
Unlike that Jackson, or Lewis and Clark
Why all the walking?
Have you no ships?
Bringing a woman to ward off war
Sacagawea, the salmon-eater
Sold off to a rapist
Salvaged for her snake-speak
Hip stripped for the president’s fur
How rude indeed

They call me delusional
They say we only got Asia much later
With Apple and fast-food
Whatever that means
And something about casinos,
I don’t quite recall
The man was dressing for a festival
And reeked of booze

A timeless classic
New broom sweeps away
The less-dressed or less-blessed
These people, they gave everything
and I never even learned
to say “thank you”
in Indian

P.S.
Dibs on the World is round,
and Fuck you, Vespucci.