The New World Deli

At a cocktail party I met the actual guy who cloned sheep.
The idea of replacement organs swirled in my strong

Drink, danced around a striped swizzle stick.
My mother died recently and I was curious about

Sharing some of her cells and having him bring her back
To life, but I had trouble finding a smooth segue

In the conversation. I know doctors hate to give free advice
At cocktail parties. Is splitting genes to create a new species

Better than bringing our loved ones back from the dead?
In most families the answer would have to be a fat yes.

At some point this guy will splice a human embryo
With, say, a giant redwood and it will grow into a man

Stationary for life but able to live for a thousand years,
Or a tree with legs, walking the streets in search of a good

Hash house that serves hotcakes with real maple syrup—
A kind of cannibalism, drinking the blood of its young,

Which at times ain’t a bad idea. Imagine teen-age boys
With electric guitar picks for fingers, their left hands vaginas

Naturally, and everyone creating beings of their own choosing,
And no one ever dying unless they wanted to, and only unborn souls

Complaining at the human deli line, waving their fleshy numbers,
Screaming because they think they may have been skipped.

Copyright © 2009 Bruce Cohen All rights reserved
from Disloyal Yo-Yo
Dream Horse Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission