Sunday, August 21, 2011

More About Yeast

When you’re figuring out what is true
And the answer is long overdue,
To think something new
(They’re smarter than you)
Just ask, “What would yeast cells do?”

We all have been part of the beast,
Though most have been thoroughly fleeced.
Inability to grow
Makes people say “D’oh!”
It’s true: we’re no smarter than yeast.

Consider the Petri-made dish
As source for our veggies and fish:
Once we all sup
No one fills it back up,
No matter how hard you might wish.

The yeast cells’ resources were nil,
And with no way that they could refill,
Of course they got ill,
Then became very still—
Exactly the way that we will.

Some yeast found their way into beer
Thinking that was a better career;
They got drunk as a skunk,
Told the dish cells they stunk,
But their exit was just as severe.

The yeast cells thought they might make do,
But then temperature rise did ensue;
Incubator heat
Burnt up what they eat,
Concurrently frying them too.

If true global warming’s released,
The Arctic won’t be any feast;
Aside from the heat,
There’ll be nothing to eat
And we’ll end up the same as the yeast.

When the Sixth Great Extinction’s released,
Complex animals will be decreased;
At that point one may
Be able to say
The emerging “culture” is yeast.

The cells performed many a feat,
And “decided” things, in their conceit—
Like what’s beyond the dome
Of the dish they called home—
But they couldn’t decide not to eat.

The yeast cells were piled to the wall
As they argued the cause of their fall;
What made it all moot?
Pesky overshoot!
Nothing else mattered at all.

The two dishes sat side by side,
In one, the capitalists vied;
The other, distinct,
Was where socialists linked,
But in both, the yeast cells all died.

No wrong that needed apology,
Nor virtue, despite mythology;
They were just expression
Of life's succession
In the Petri dish ecology.

The yeast cells just ate from their plate,
While humans had learned to debate;
Turned out nothing mattered:
As soon as poo splattered,
They all were swept straight to their fate.

And complexity won’t save the day,
When a simple point serves to dismay;
With carbon all around
And not still in the ground
Like the yeast, we'll have no more buffet.

There are none to exalt nor assault
As we wait for our burial vault.
We had a fine feast
But remember, we’re yeast.
The truth is: it’s nobody’s fault.

When complex thoughts in my mind swish,
And answers don’t come though I fish,
I don’t go astray,
It’s simpler to say:
“Remember the petri dish!”

And here's a little yeast fable
To read while we are still able:

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