A poem in response to some of the outraged statements
of those offended by the thought of gay marriage

Where does it stop?

Where does it stop?  Soon there will be people
wanting to marry their horse or perhaps
three or four people all want to get married,
perhaps all to the same okapi.
Whales will go down the aisle with bankers,
tree climbing wallabies will want to be sea-lions,
so they can mate with apples, or adopt fly-eating orchids,
those unsound on the Atonement
will pierce their nipples and run riot with watermelons

If the word marriage is going to be infinitely plastic
it loses all meaning.  It will rain kumquats.
Traffic wardens will be Brownies, and to file your tax return
will mean to form a lifelong union with a typewriter.

We said this would happen all along. 
We know that when the homosexual lobby get one thing they
always move on to the next stage, wearing sequins and feathers
lip-synching to Kylie, waiting for the fiery chariot.
I have seen them all rubbing oil on their chests.
We will all have the heads of giant blue birds.
If these lesbians get their way we will all be
hanging upside down from the rafters like bats,
biting the heads off babies.

With thanks to Don Horrocks - spokesman for the Evangelical Alliance
This poem by P.W. was printed in the newsletter of www.qlgf.org.uk