(Inspired by the concept, What if Dr. Seuss was Chinese?")
In an alternate universe, he beckoned the call,
By a beacon he was seekin' a new life afterall.
That on his death he wished to be amazingly, fantastically reborn,
On this day or that one; pick any morn.
His new name was Dongpo and he served Chinese dishes,
He wanted to be a writer, but wasn't asked his wishes.
And so he hustled in the bustle working every Chinese night,
Cooking orders chop chop and tryin' to get them right.
His chop suey when kung fuey, turning customer's heads,
The Can-ton-ese asked, "Can't-ya-please cook good instead".
But unfortunately, Dongpo's Tofu tasted like poo, so did his chow mein.
He was gung-ho about Kung Pao, but the spices caused cramping and pain.
He was not alone in his reincarnation, which happened to lower his station,
His busboy used to be Confucius, but he was on vacation.
He put too much ginseng in his Shanghai surprise,
So much so, it would have teared big, fat Buddha's eyes.
His infamy grew from Bangkok to Beijing, like an oncoming typhoon,
The Mandarin Bok Choy in pickled beets were instantly lampooned.
One day, the restaurant's boss of the Tong, paid our Dongpo a visit,
Threatening to play Mahjong with his teeth, if he didn't get with it.
So like a whiz, he consulted with the local temple of Kung Fu
And told them his troubles and asked them what he should do.
The Shaolin monk named Shinobe exclaimed, "It's the Yin Yang, that's the cause,
Of your spirits teleporting, correlating and sorting, defying spiritual laws".
And so they burned incense (and peppermints) and chanted Chinese lingo,
Played pick up chopsticks and served him won ton soup with lots of ginkgo.
Until the lights began swirling, flipsy twirling, turning him into a woman; quite the looker,
Before sending him to France...as a Parisian, street walking hooker.