Ode to Fox News

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A balding head and a parching tongue that speaks
a not-too-foreign language: sentences made up
entirely of false cognates. Patriot, you say.
Noticing an old classmate at the supermarket,
you move to say hello, only to be confronted
by a stranger with a cart full of embarrassment
and cauliflower. No reply. One minute the face
in the mirror looks a little like your yearbook
photo. The next, an old man with graying hair
and an artificial hip. You suppose you belong
somewhere halfway, but cannot be certain.
Observe two lovers frozen in time. Most say
they are kissing. You ask: maybe they quarrel?
One day you wake up, your face a false cognate.
Marxist, you say.