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(A paradox that questions if it’s still George
Washington's axe despite having had both
its head and handle replaced.)

Maybe I’ll replace my legs
with new ones, good and strong—
a shapely pair (with nicer knees),
freckled, slender, long.

Perhaps I’d get a manicure
if I had brand new arms.
Less bony wrists would let me wear
big bracelets full of charms.

Think what I’d get with a new head:
new hair, new eyes, new smile.
Not to mention kinder thoughts—
I’ve wanted those a while.

With all this work to spruce me up,
to hew and cleave and hew,
will I be a better me,
or now just envy you?