Breakfast hangovers ask what to have with pancakes.
How about a socks on the rocks, oops, gin and tail–
Eons ago, we had wings: a practical physicality.
But then they faded away with the dinosaur.
No more of the need to escape above their
reaches. Therefore, in my next encounter
with a self-proclaimed messenger who
comes flapping down from the sky,
I’ll get the first words to tell‘em,
“I pity the fool who challenges
an evolutionary successor.”
Flying into space, unprotected.
Cosmic radiation made you all glowy and sex-organless.
No wonder your species had become obsolete.
Now get back into the toy-box, so you can
bug glowworm and my little unicorn.