Don’t you dare examine my zygosity.
My alleles in their magnificent combinations
are my business, and mine alone.
I pride myself on being a crucial member
of our global population of genetically diverse humans.
I don’t know about you, but my right to privacy
extends down to my precious cells,
my chromosomes, my every constituent,
and, if elected, I’ll see it extends to yours, too.
Pretty soon we’ll have a band of nullizygotes
running the show, now be honest with me,
how many of you would be comfortable with that?
You can compare-contrast my zygosity
after you pry it from my cold dead eukaryote.
Know what I mean?! Let me hear it!
The zygote-fondlers across the politically-correct world
can stick it where the sun doesn’t shine!
If you come anywhere near an evaluation
of my zygosity, the nature of it, the health,
the viability, the potential for contribution
to the genetic stability of our heritage,
you’ll get far more than you bargained for.
A new pure race might be hiding in my diploid organism,
but you won’t ever know it, god willing.
I’ll take my beautiful genes to my grave, if need be.
My only true adversary is the snoop,
the snitch, the scientist, these elongated probes
constantly inserting into my free body.
I’m a ticking time bomb, thank you, DNA.
You poke your microscope in my locus
and I’ll jab my violent tyranny in your eye.
Stephen Michael Antieau graduated from the University of Illinois in 2007. It was a bumpy ride. Now, he is a brilliant dispatcher, a writer and author, a continuing student of history, a musician, an art collector, a heavy reader, a light runner, a feeder of squirrels, and a faithful if somewhat doubtful Chicagoan. His temperament has always been slow-to-warm-up, and that also happens to be an adequate description of his writing career.