Tone Deficit BY KEVIN MCFADDEN

Can't tell your oh from your ah? Go, go or else 
go ga-ga. What, were you born in a barn? Oh. 
Ah. What do you say when the dentist asks? 
No novacaine? Nah. Then joke's on us, Jack: 

we gnaw ourselves when we really ought to know. 
Can't tell the force from the farce, nor our 
cores from our cars. The horde works hard in this 
new nation of shopkeeps, moles in malls, minding 

our stores when we should be minding our stars. 
Harmony, whoremoney—can we even tell 
the showman from the shaman? Or are we 
the worst kind of   tourists, doing La France 

in low fronts, sporting shorts at Chartres 
and so alone in our élan? Nope. We're Napoleons 
of nowhere, hopeless going on hapless, 
unable to tell our Elbas from our elbows.