We live in times of innovation—
winds of change affront the nation;
wind most welcome by a few;
(the masses know not what to do
with engineered progressive change;
their morals slow to rearrange.)
And thus, in ornithology
we find an apt analogy . . .
Phoenix-like the vulture rose
in rainbow raiment, from repose
Its plumage all askew—a freak:
a mutant with a painted beak
borne of winds but lately blown.
This strange new hybrid (yet unflown)
did twitter forth an avian boon.
It preened its plumes and croaked a tune:
“I represent that rarest fowl,
far wiser than outmoded owl.
A dazzling swan of change am I
brought forth to liberate the sky!”
(Yet more appeared a fractured emu;
fair is fowl post-op. They tried to
cross said emu with an ostrich!
(What the hell—the surgeon got rich
changing apples into . . . mangos;
altering the twos to tangos.)
Fresh from gender suicide
he moulted into she. Beside
herself (itself?) with grief, regarded
previous selves as false: discarded
Sir for Madam overnight;
fixed it, mixed it, made it right.
Since God was wrong the first time ‘round,
Man (or something) thus is bound
hormonally to tweak and mutate,
hastening rebirth’s freakish due-date.
A manly bass—and yet the face
was poorly paired in his/her case.
Soprano ought to have resounded,
yet the voice left one confounded.
Rainbow bracelets notwithstanding
this was clearly modern branding
(on the forehead—like a beast?)
Well, Jesus said the truth at least:
that angels are of neither gender;
hence no need to check the member.
Lest we offend endangered species
I commend transgendered theses—
paired with warning and a fable
as they turn the feathered table:
We may nurture fair to foul
while nature shrieks a hideous howl—
but foul to fair cannot return;
thus trapped, both Eve and Adam burn.