That Hack, That Quack

“Your gender may be nonspecific,”

offered Red, “but Art requires form.

The way you’re dancing, honey,

you’re not even getting warm.”

“So lacking are you in the acumen

we know as critical, my androgyne,”

riposted Green, “one finds your dumb

reactions paralytical, and asinine.”

They sat this way all day,

each making gibes and sending feelers

out from their haphazard

sketchy sides, like dealers

in a senselessly complex card game.

Neither was allowed a breather.

The guy who drew them hadn’t

specified their gender, either:

hence their references to same.

This is what became

of every creature in the frame

of any scribble by this artiste. Shame –

alas, alack! –

on him! – that hack,

that quack,

that Kettelhack!

.