You’ve made a brief beginning of it,
The Timurids would say
If they could strain past
Their lurid mausoleums
To inhabit the earth of our empire.
They would find us a puzzle if they did.
For we’ve got a world where
Even a street child in Kingston, Jamaica
Receives almost daily the glittering goods of the world.
Cloth from the looms of Asia
Made by the descendants of mighty Angkor
Shoes stitched by Han Chinese
to soles of Brazilian rubber
Coddle his feet.
His thirst is met by the sweet of Hispaniola
Tinged with the crazed spice
Of the Columbian coca leaf.
He is an ingestor of the world, this waif,
And he is the least among us
In the world made by America.
God help the great.