April 2,2006
Frankly,
after awhile,
you get tired
of hearing it brag
about how many MBAs
it has, Ph.D's, its kids' S.A.T.scores,
about attending Harvard, Stanford, or Cal.
You want it to shut up, but it can't stop. Its need
to self-congratulate is veritiby endless; and at that point
you realize Prestige truly has nothing to offer; nothing to say
about the gifted it is not. Prestige is too worried about its status,
about making comparisons, connections, and looking over its shoulder,
at everyone else—about dominating the minds of sycophants like itself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem