This afternoon tasseomancy
yields only scant results
And my amateur psychology
an impatient soul consults
The Argyle St. Peruvian band
play the same song every day
the notes they drone I can't withstand;
each worsens my dismay
But Lord, there'll be deliverance
from this army of pan pipes -
they've over-tested my resilience
for Andean stereotypes
El Cóndor Pasa far too much
and as a tune it's second class
If that siku once more you touch
I'll shove it up your mardi gras
You think these idle threats I swear
But we'll soon see who's outdone;
If you don't stop I'll come down there
and brutally murder the whole goddamned lot of you hateful, banal, keffiyeh-wearing faux-South American world music snob noise-polluting shite-merchant bastards with a motherfucking submachine gun.