Darwin’s Prophet

   Is this a fist I see which approaches my face
   with steroid-assisted velocity?
   Or is this a fist of the mind, an immaculate conception,
   gestating in a beer-soaked brain?

   If real, that news report now rings true:
   we are indeed evolving into crabs
   because the fist is truly crustacean-like
   huge as a Caribbean conch shell
   with blue enameled calluses;
   spikey ridges serving as knuckles.

   Having now considered the fist close-up
   perhaps it was wrong of me to so freely
   and so loudly share my concerns about
   your too obvious and too intimate 
   relations with your mother.
   After all, you are simply ensuring 
   your odd traits will be inherited.

   So, good for you, Darwin's Prophet!

   Managing to crawl all by yourself
   through the septic foam fringing the shoreline
   and learning to adapt in a new environment.
   Your flat head and crooked legs
   proclaim that you are the pathfinder
   in evolution's wilderness.

   And well done, too, Darwin's Pharmacist!

   Opting for an unnatural selection of supplements
   to enhance bulk and brawn over brains.
   Your scrunched brow crusted with barnacles
   and those black pebbles passing as eyes
   affirm that in the future only mutants
   will be fit to survive.


   Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor of Student Loans