I have an inordinate fondness for stars and beetles
I think in Venn and
Quadratic equations
No man who cannot be trusted with an apostrophe
Should be in charge of bombs
Or Value Added Tax
Or vaginas
A radical policy
Hear me out
When the moon is dark and
Our hearts are dark
And like egg timers we
Pour wine in the top and dredge
Blood from the bottom
Then you men can rule the world
Just for a week while we
Do blanket forts and wallpaper our ramparts with books
Because we don’t want to talk to you anyway
And we might even trust you with the beetles
Acute angles
SOH CAH TOA
Radii and
Things that feel important like
The remote control
But when we’re done
And the moon is waxing
We take the stars back
Acute angles
Venn
And the beetles
You can keep the remote.
