Our genes exult in careless rapture
sand-dune chases, bubbling laughter,
hot blood pumping, wild eyes glazing,
wriggling, squeezing, panting, moaning,
giggling, licking, rolling, groaning,
slipping, dipping, no-ing, YES-ing.
Genes have no time for dull precautions,
condoms, coils and calendars,
intra-uterine contraptions,
hormone pills, thermometers,
caps and cling-film, spermicides,
douches, interruptions, lies.
For genes must live. It's what they're made for.
Genes must give their shape to future
faces, noses, teeth and freckles,
graceful roses, sweet and reckless,
lusty gardeners, happy churls,
rogering their ripe-thighed girls.
So down with jeans and up with genes
and fecund propagation!
Away devices, artifices,
hail insemination!
For het'rosexual unimpeded missionary one-on-one
in Nature's Way, the Perfect Way,
the best of lays, and matchless fun.
Lay on, selfish gene!
And sucks to anyone
who won't rhyme girl with churl.
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