Pandora’s thoughts

May 1, 2017

How do I tell my dreams
Not to be nostalgic,
And go neatly back
In their Pandora's box?

How does one tell its age
To iron out the skin,
Yet keep the pious sage within?
Or an angry writer to
uncrinkle a wadded page
that could have been
Nobel, Newbury, or Caldecott,
But was tossed in the wastebin,
Ashamed, forgot,
Or that the death of all
Trees are a terrible waste,
And nothing sold isn’t bought:
Who's running the EPA?
How shall I sell the news,
Which is sold
As scam whitening cream:
"Remember the Maine"
"Bashar must go"
"Down with Hussein"
And
"Rogue states sell yellow cake!"

I am at a loss
How so many don't give a toss,
Living in alternate religions,
Bathrooms, and realities.
How did we become so
star-crossed over something
so dross,
That men snip their penises
At a whim, but forgetfully
Still open doors for women?
Only a Wheaties' decathlete,
At sixty, wants to trade in his
boxers for tampons and panties,
Oh sorry, he doesn't bleed;
No metapauses,
No menarche.
Just metastatic malarkey
Of gender anarchy!
“These are men, those are women”
You ought to be
Prosecuted for gender
Sabotage. Now file in!