I’m getting suspicious of this whole “hybrid” thing,
Which in all human spheres has taken full wing.
Hybrid crops, hybrid cars, hybrid food on the shelves,
Hybrid service stations where folks serve themselves.
Hybrid AI filling out Trump’s latest bleat,
Hybrid campaigns for a Congressional seat.
Terrorism’s boring if not a “hybrid attack,”
Events don’t glitter if hybrid attendance they lack,
The sales rep waxed dreamy for his “mattress hybrid,”
Which turned out to be coils with a white latex lid.
“Hybrid mixes” are what bartenders now serve,
Order a mere rum-and-Coke: folks gasp at your nerve.
My daughter told me to try hybrid upbringing,
Which consists of her cell phone constantly pinging
Plus ten minutes daily of study and chores,
To keep her mindful of life’s requisite bores.
And my boss wants me to perform “in hybrid,”
In order for him to my coworker get rid.
Yes, hybridization is the hottest new thing,
And trouble I’m having to get in the swing.
My books just have pages, no cursors or cues,
My CDs play music without Taylor’s new news,
My bike has no battery, I drink Bailey’s straight,
My only concession is my café au lait.
To write these few lofty lines I wracked my brain,
Since genius does happen sans AI or cocaine,
Untinctured, uninfected, pure human spice,
Though I hear AI will do it all in a trice.
Fine and well, great, but the result’s what I did:
Thirty lines ‘bout our times, and nothing hybrid.
