PSYLOCKIAN SONNETS

by sevenall

I

"Compare her to a Summers any day
She is more lovely and more temperate
Than any incarnation of Jean Grey
A weaker telepath? Nah, she is great
Some day her violet butterfly will shine
And she'll retain her sense of modesty
And put an end to her own terrible decline
She'll even, maybe, get a personality
The memories of butt-thongs will then fade
She'll lose two-thirds of that big chest she owes
No longer able to rest in their shade
She might be useful and perhaps she grows.

As long as fan-boys drool at what they see
It's but a dream, but it's a kewl idea"

--

II

It does not matter that your face is blue
Or that your wings are evil, metal objects
Or that you really do not have a clue
Or any other of your many well-known defects

What matters here is that you waste her time.
And even worse, you also waste my time
I have lost interest in your bitter mood
The angst that makes you sit and quietly brood

So take her love, return it if you dare.
Feathered or not, she doesn't really care.

--

III

Oh well, she got some things the easy way
As modelling and fighting with the X-Men
Blonde hair, blue eyes, and, as they say
The Right Stuff, quite unusual in women

She lost some things the same and easy way
Through plotholes, retcons and through cheesecake
She came out changed, a sad and bitter day,
because some folks were wishing for a remake.

And lately, she's been sporting a tattoo
Is there no limit to what Lobdell will do?

--

IV

Well, Betsy got a daughter, Caroline
Albino-skinned, with hair as red as wine
They saw each other, then began to fight
While Doug tried hard to set the matter right

They were so often at each other's throats
That Kurt in secret hired two fishingboats
To get the rest of them to safety
in case, he said, this ends in tragedy

Pete Wisdom's sour remarks were no big help
He told the Ramseys just to drown the whelp