“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,