A retelling of Kitzmiller vs. Dover Area School District,with apologies to Ernest L. Thayer

The outlook wasn’t brilliant ‘neath that Pennsylvania sky:
The courts stood N to zip before the new case here to try.
Creationism in the schools had died a legal death,
And now as Rothschild rose, Gishville IDers held their breath.

The Pandas text was soon invoked in early draft. The I-
D faithful clung to dogma calling evolution lie.
They thought, “If only Behe could shore up this house of sand —
We’d get it in the classroom yet, with Behe on the stand.”

But Gillen followed Rothschild; dated arguments began
As he flogged old scarlet herrings, even citing Piltdown Man.
All denial of religious motivation by the board
Rang hollow, clearly false, and one clear plaintiff’s point was scored.

And Dembski, worthy Dembski, so long slated to appear
Sent regrets, apologies, and just a subtle hint of fear.
So upon Intelligent Design, grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Behe getting to the bat.

The process followed process, and the plaintiffs volleyed first.
So much evidence producing, that it seemed the court might burst.
And when the dust had lifted, from the science firm and fit,
there was little doubt that Dover’s board had really stepped in it.

Then from a couple throats or so there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through Seattle, damning Darwin straight to Hell;
It burned through all its funding and still more it did demand,
For Behe, Michael Behe, was advancing to the stand.

There was ease in Behe’s manner stepping into Behe’s place;
there was pride in Behe’s beatific smile on Behe’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly stroked his beard,
no Creationist alive could doubt ’twas Behe science feared.

Two dozen eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with glee.
One dozen tongues applauded as he stood for proud ID.
While plaintiff’s writhing lawyers nearly fainted lest they slip,
defiance flashed in Behe’s eye, a sneer curled Behe’s lip.

And now the diabolic question hurtled through the air,
And Behe stood to face it, armed with haughty tone and stare.
Close by the sturdy Judge a major point unheeded sped —
“What data, where?” said Behe. “Strike one!” observers said.

From IDers, watching closely, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the bombing of a clinic or a pornographic store.
“Kill him! Kill the lawyer!” sputtered someone red and blue,
And it’s likely they’d have burned him back in fourteen-eighty-two.

With a smile of Christian certainty, great Behe held his spot.
“The immune system did not evolve; did not, did not, did not!”
He signaled to the lawyer, and once more the question flew,
But Behe still ignored it, and reporters wrote, “Strike two!”

“God!” cried the ID zealots, and an echo answered “God!”
With such confidence in Behe that they rallied to applaud.
But they saw his face grow deathly pale, his bold ideas strain,
And they knew that Behe couldn’t sidestep this one yet again.

The sneer has fled from Behe’s lip, the teeth are clenched in spite.
He claims, with desperation, that his claims are clear and right.
But there the evidence is stacked, in research piled high,
And thus the spell is broken — had it all escaped his eye?

Oh, the court’s opinion’s filed in legal writing clear and straight.
And humanity rejoices in a truth inviolate.
Sound science is upheld, and some believers start to doubt,
And there is no joy in Gishville — mighty ID has struck out.