Trump, Biden, Sanders, Warren: the Baby-Boomers' Dead Hands

We will be sitting somewhere, a little bit
Cold, staring into a camp fire's flames,
Flinching as wet wood pops, sending
Sparks toward our skin and our clothes.
You will be you and I will be me, and I'll
Tell you I'm sorry for all that my people,
These god-awful white baby-boomers,
Have done. We took all the money.
We hungered for war. We clung to
The trappings of power until we were
Timid and dotty, and little was left for
The ones who have followed us, people
Like you. The wars have brought
Hardship. Who would have thought?
Our closed little system kept even
Our countrymen arms-lengths away
As the empire crumbled. Now, we
Are cold and assaulted by embers.
The old ways defeated, my people
Are gone, and I, too, haven't too long
To tell you I'm sorry. Nothing is left.
Better learn to speak Chinese or head
For the hills, You youngsters now
Are on your own.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 102 times
Written on 2019-10-02 at 01:22

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