Oh Nexplanon, thou slender, silent lance,
guard my—well, technically no longer mine,
depending on the state’s judicial stance
broadcast on an interstate billboard sign.
No votes can sway your steadfast, sacred post,
you scoff at laws men scribble in God’s name.
No congressman or court can dare to boast
they’ve wrested power from your constant flame.
Through rights debates, you stay steadfast and sure,
immune to gerrymanders, bribes, or bans
your reign, at least for three years, shall endure,
to protect me from their cold jelly scans.
So here’s my ode, dear rod of potent grace—
the winner of my hormonal arms race!
