Chimera

With three arms and four legs, 
a face that's disfigured and small,
he crouches compliant 
and strokes the electrodes.

The men in white lab coats are smiling.
They treat him just like an amoeba,
poking and prodding his body
with needles and probes.

A subject for scrutiny under a microscope,
there's no humanity fueling his bones, he's bizarre.
Bioethicists say: 'He's a man with a soul!' 
but what price a soul if you're born in a jar?
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace