A Sonnet, by W. Shakespeare, Esq., Posthumously Horrified

She came to college bright, of curious mind,
A maiden keen to drink at Learning’s well;
But Learning’s well, I found, had been re-lined
With Foucault’s slime and Butler’s sulfured smell.

By sophomore year, her oppressors were named,
Her race, her nation, class — each wound a fact;
No knowledge sought, but grievances inflamed,
And Marx reborn, in Equity’s embrace.

By junior year, she reasoned she was he;
The clinic waiting, scalpel sharp and sure;
She sacrificed her womanhood to be
Released from angst — but angst persists, obscure.

So forth she marched with Queers who loved Hamas,
Chanting for the killers of the slain;
She found Hamas had loved her not, alas,
And left her, as it leaves all fools, in pain.

At graduation, robed and debt-arrayed,
She won an HR post; her pride flag waved;
Till AI came, and her position flayed,
And left her where no algorithm saved.

Her student loans, an anchor round her neck,
Drag down what surgeons left and Marx began;
No womanhood, no job — a sunken wreck,
In debt, and dreaming still she was a man.

I conjured her to warn what madness costs;
These tenured Claudiuses have bested me.
Poor Ophelia — endlessly, and lost;
She drowns in debt where once she drowned in sea.