The chicken coop unmanned, adrift at sea
Rolls aimlessly upon hormonal swells.
Her crew, well-versed in gynecology
Repaint in pink dull feminism’s hells.
Such lunacy as ovulates their womb
Impels them now to celebrate our doom.
First freed from God, then finally, from men,
The silly sailors, decked like women’s parts
Scold gender’s greater half, like hens, and then
Cluck on, devoid of biologic arts;
Useless fowl, squawking fit to neuter us
Who dare exist without a uterus.
F**K Donald Trump ! is not a statement offering much in the way of solutions . . .
Put on your pussy hat, grab your Kibbles—
Let that cat out of your bag
Celebrate your business, Womyn
Whether you be sprite or hag . . .
Which is which? You make us wonder
(as you hate on the head-of state)
What you’re packing. Woman-thunder
Promises to titillate.
Lead us men into our future
Show us where we’ve gone astray.
Shine that light of Matriarchy
As we stumble on our way.
Pure emotion lights your gender.
Superficial party-lines
Tie us up. A pussy-bender
Just might straighten out your signs.
Talking-points at intersections
Promise to inflame the game.
Seeking brave new world directions
Ought to shift some blame.
Put on your pussyhat, grab your Kibbles—
Let that cat out of your bag
Celebrate your business, Womyn
Whether you be sprite or hag . . .
Which is which? You make us wonder
(as you hate on the head-of state)
What you’re packing. Woman-thunder
Promises to titillate.
Lead us men into our future
Show us where we’ve gone astray.
Shine that light of Matriarchy
As we stumble on our way.
Pure emotion lights your gender.
Superficial party-lines
Tie us up. A pussy-bender
Just might straighten out your signs.
Talking-points at intersections
Promise to inflame the game.
Seeking brave new world directions
Ought to shift some blame.
CONNECT/HOOK 