“Variant” by Jack Kimball 

While riding now
on gaps in time
Our rocket passed
insanity -

those graves were made -
when Nature growled;
and picked
- like lice -
them from her wound.

She plucked their eyes
with Darwin’s thumbs;
and murdered foul -
humanity.

Dead vicars grins
laid down with scowls -
and Caesar’s truth
was found as lies.

We marked their place
and so moved on;
they, now no more –
than cave paintings.