Headache

a.k.a. cephalalgia a.k.a. what was

in that drink exactly a.k.a. are you

positive the brain has no pain receptors

a.k.a. if you could just stop talking

a.k.a. buh buh buh buh buh a.k.a.

just three more hours in the shower

a.k.a. the devil done found my weak

point a.k.a. wh-whaddaya mean it

might be a tumor a.k.a. it’s complicated

a.k.a. dunk my head in a basin of

cold water a.k.a. but I need this here

caffeine a.k.a. squinty reds and pinks

a.k.a. why don’t you try it out before

you call it “benign”, buddy?

The Evolution Will Not Be Televised

So here’s the thing: a Congolese study has proven

that bigger male gorillas make better mates and fathers.

 

(The selective pressure is coming on pretty hard now)

 

Really it was there all along, almost a breathable

pheromone, we scientists could practically have

isolated the stuff if it didn’t frighten us so much.

We suspected

 

(Knew! Knew all along and still we did nothing, we meek, inheriting nothing!)

 

as much, the idea was always

present, in Mr. Universe contests, in Sylvester Stallone

movies

 

(If only we could understand his slurry grunts, we might have had some clue!)

 

but to diminutive men of science like myself,

this is proof positive, this is the death knell,

 

(I have weird hair, too, and while that experiment is still ongoing, I am pessimistic

for my mating potential)

 

monolith

of fact and inevitability. I don’t know how to tell my presumably

equally subpar mate: that we are the evolutionarily bereft,

that over the generations, our offspring will only grow

smaller and smaller, weirder, uglier, until they are the size

of amoebae, waving furiously to be noticed, to avoid

the crushing boots of the mighty, lurching gorillas.