I've heard them all, but "Fairy Sherbet Moose"
Remains my favorite unofficial name.
Instead of vicious monsters on the loose,
It rings of fun, of cities not aflame.
But really change it now that I'm the King?
Severely tempting. Wash away the past
And start anew without our former sting,
Restructure all we do from first to last!
I'll change our lives—! Which isn't any change.
It's what our species's done since time began.
Consistency's the challenge to arrange,
To stand in places were we always ran.
We have to learn to freeze, to stop and stay
Before our brand-new sherbet melts away.
***
I've heard then all, but "Fairy Sherbet Moose"
Admits in stark relief our fall's great height.
A race whose name derived from our great ruse
Now sounds as though we are the ones to bite.
Sweet irony! What hunger once turned cruel,
Once sated, softens, melts, and hollows out.
Until a pony-addled rainbow fool
Holds court within my shattered hive's redoubt.
And I am left, alone, to lick my wounds,
To taste the bitter brine of my defeat
While, echoing, the mocking, sordid sounds:
A moose by other name would smell more sweet.
Let Thorax rule the ones who would embrace
Such base indignity. I'll save my face.