It Skips A Generation Poem by Jerry Buckley

It seems to me, it skip a generation
As it leapfrogs towards some salient separation
She harbors few affinities for purebred prototypes
Just as soon create us ugly, and then listen to our gripes

A game of checkers, she crowns her king
Yet a royal coronation is so surreal a scene
Declining to touch down to earth before she takes our measure
Must be easier to clone DeVito, than to replicate Schwarzenegger

She plays a child's game of pin-the-tail
Calls a blind man's bluff to find her alpha male
She waits and baits her timeless trap; she sets the clamping jaws
And so transmutes to their progeny, her grandfather's countless flaws

White knight jumps across the squares
A two-step to or fro - and then one toward making pairs
Until he feigns he's won the game, and gains the blushing bride
Pays forward a congenital cul-de-sac, and so sadly stems the tide

It crosses over, and it forever squirms
Gets hopelessly entangled like a box of worms
In female pattern baldness; or through eyes of beady gray
Heredity delights to come and go, but she so seldom cares to stay