(A new statue of “liberty” poem more fitting for a Great America )

Like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty orange-headed man with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and his name
HAMMER OF EXILES. From his golf-hardened hand
Glows world-wide warning; his raging eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, Third World sewers, your pathetic loser weaklings!” cries he
With endless tweets. “Give me only the rich, the powerful,
The sleek, huddled bankers ever-yearning for a little more,
The wretched refuse keep on your own teeming shore.
If you send your homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I’ll smash those losers with my really big lamp (the biggest)
beside the golden door!”

For a point of obsolete, anachronistic humor, here is the old poem:

New Colossus

By Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”