A Tycoon's Stud Poem by John Sensele

Pigeonholes gore and bore scores of lives
Misclassified, mishandled, mistaken, misunderstood
By a toxic taxonomy that thrives
On Utopian criteria and historic hysteria in a neighbourhood

Where grass grows blues and the sky sniffs green
Goiters on untaught throats whose thoughts
In ethereal ethics endeavour to win
Over converts whose concerts, deserts, adverts for cots

Fly at night, sigh for a bite, cry and lie down when light
Comes on to uncover sordid secrets
For so long concealed in the pestilence plight
Slaves suffer as egregious egrets

Fix fleas and fees from a bevy
Bovine beasts abhor when crude cud
Pokes fun at pigeonholes that levy
Misclassified minds to maul a bison's bud.