Kids these days, like all before them, are born
Barbarians, civilized on the fly,
In need of parents who lovingly scorn
Their reckless wants and errors, lest they die.
Today’s brood, most insolent, are coddled —
The ball’s been dropped in our age most of all —
In flattering blankets they’ve been swaddled.
From a precipice of ego they’ll fall,
Into a pit of dread they shall fly, blind,
To start a salvage mission unrehearsed,
Free their minds from sick culture’s double bind,
And grow into adulthood, now uncursed.
Vehicles of youth don’t know yet to conserve;
When cruel life arrives, most will learn to swerve.
Dedicated to my mother, Grace