Though his intentions were different,
Dr. Moreau, with his uplifted
beasts, might be considered
the father of this line of research.
Today's equivalents, however,
use recombinant tech
instead of scalpels of chrome
to craft their new hybrids,
inserting into the genome of
various ruminants nucleo-
tide sequences that will
produce insulin, or megostrol,
or sertraline, each easily retrieved
from the milk of these fabulous
chimerae, like roses floating
in cream, and then retailed
to a scarred public.
But given how the real
cash-cow has always been
folk medicine, once the jinn's
out of the helix so-to-speak,
it seems all too probable
that eventually, in a raid on
some third world black zoo,
government agents will find
more extreme examples of
Moreau's legacy: a boy with
rhino's-horn for ears or a girl
with plumage; perhaps a striped
infant with the pizzle of a tiger—
travesties, in other words,
that would make even the ghost
of H. G. Wells blanch.
At least compared
to their harvested brethren
out back (smoke signatures
of fur, blood, and baby
teeth), they'll live to coo, bark,
or dream of unaltered tomorrows,
even if they are neither strictly
man nor beast, and walk on
either two legs or four.