The End of Cis-Ginger (a satirical poem)
A small satirical sonnet-shaped poem triggered by people getting unnecessarily offended by the accompanying image all over the Internet. Sample quote: "bring on the apocalypse". Tsk.
Running and running as fast as they can
gingerbread woman and gingerbread man
have run faster than light off the gender spectrum
and alloyed into some kind of ginger electrum.
Amorphous, sexless, they now lie in a box
(it's safe, as they've long since outstripped the fox)
in (mostly contented) non-congenital bliss,
not trans-ginger, gi-sexual, and by no means cis,
though they dream of a time before they were remade,
when gingerbread creatures were always afraid
of the childlike monsters that lurked in small beds
salivating, eager to bite off their heads,
clutching cutters that glinted in a manner horrific,
oppressive and vicious and gender-specific.