Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?
then may ye also do good, that are accustomed to do evil.
We’re tired of your feline past
predatory darkness cannot last
your claw and tooth, your fangs, your youth—
they get old fast.
Your sullen, incoherent style
has grown intolerably vile.
After the kill, your prey is still
in pure denial.
Leopard-phantasms feed the flames;
the thing that spawned you whines and blames
although we could call Motherhood
by harsher names.
Jungle law enforcement should
stop crowning you with victimhood
erase your spots, connect the dots—
we wish you would.
Then lambs with lions shall rejoice
while lines with iambs raise their voice;
spotted pards play wiser cards.
(A better choice.)