From the line in the sand

to Custer’s last stand

it takes a man.

From the Halls of Montezuma

to the shores of Tripoli

it’s men we see.

In their Demolition Derbies

where they smash each other’s cars

be they simply hyperactive

or just denizens of Mars

they will take it to the limit

they will take it to the bars.

Men

When they do the Hokey Pokey

and they turn themselves about,

They’re still men.

If they gotta throw a tantrum

if they gotta sulk and pout,

well, they can.

As they shake their little pee pees

and they pound their chests and shout,

you know that it will come to blows

but not know what about,

it’s just the nature of the Homo Saps

to call each other out.

Men

So when at last the End of Days

doth free us all from Sin

its arrival will be ushered by

the ministries of Men.

Plagerism and channelling meet in this poem.  I feel as though I saw a very similar poem in the New Yorker; illustrated by Ros Chast.  Unable to sort this feeling out, I ran with the concept.