That Unspeakable Thing, by Daniel Thomas Moran

When, in good time, a thoughtful person reflects,
There can be no subject to confound us like sex.
Which had one singular apparent intention,
But wound up with more than one can mention.

We begin misconstruing the endless inferences,
That day we realize the apparent differences.
Then comes lengthy lists of shall’s and shant’s,
Based on who wears the dresses, who the pants.

He has one kind of pink thing, she quite another.
So that one must become Dad, one become Mother.
The mechanics of which no decent person dares speak,
But the results of the silence are decidedly bleak.

Men in black declare what they say some god thinks,
Separating us to protect us from all our instincts.
Consequences the gods have so very carefully defined,
From stark insanity, hairy palms, and then going blind.

Then are the many diseases our best remedies defy,
AIDS and Claps and Cancers, and let’s not be shy.
In a matter of time you could be pushing up daisies.
And most concerning of all, there might even be babies.

Then more challenging sex things we learn of these days.
Called Lesbians, and Bi’s and Trannies and Gays.
There is no easy way to tell by the looks on their faces,
Some declare they put their pink things in all the wrong places.

Now determined politicians act decisively,
With statutes to dictate where each one must pee.
With justifications that seem surprising to some,
Insisting Jesus was a virgin just like his Mum.

Yet remains this truth they are forever regretting,
All that was begot came from a lot of begetting.