micro-Scopes

Eighty years have passed since Scopes,
But somehow Darwin's on the ropes,
The circus, this time, in Topeka.
Creationists exclaim "Eureka!"
And see a venue for their hopes
Of rolling knowledge back a smidgen
(Not just bad science -- bad religion!
What could any faith be worth
Which stands or falls on dating Earth?)

Yet it's not the pious sages
Yearning for the Middle Ages
Who disturb my sleep the most;
Rather, it's the greater host
Of those from whom the works of science
Meet the same morose defiance
Given by our jaded youth
To anyone who claims "the truth".
The proofs mount up with each new fossil,
Yet multitudes are always leery,
Despite the evidence colossal,
Of anything that's "just a theory."
That's what chills me to the marrow.

Where the hell is Clarence Darrow?