Query any poem you want.

My fellow man I do not care for.

I often ask me, What's he there for?

The only answer I can find

Is, Reproduction of his kind.

If I'm supposed to swallow that,

Winnetka is my habitat.

Isn't it time to carve Hic Jacet

Above that Reproduction racket?

To make the matter more succinct:

Suppose my fellow man extinct.

Why, who would not approve the plan

Save possibly my fellow man?

Yet with a politician's voice

He names himself as Nature's choice.

The finest of the human race

Are bad in figure, worse in face.

Yet just because they have two legs

And come from storks instead of eggs

They count the spacious firmament

As something to be charged and sent.

Though man created cross-town traffic,

The Daily Mirror, News and Graphic,

The pastoral fight and fighting pastor,

And Queen Marie and Lady Astor,

He hails himself with drum and fife

And bullies lower forms of life.

Not that I think much depends

On how we treat our feathered friends,

Or hold the wrinkled elephant

A nobler creature than my aunt.

It's simply that I'm sure I can

Get on without my fellow man.