Did you imagine when you were five
on your bike under the shade
of great leafy elm trees
past painted houses in nice rows,
in the good old days when
everyone had a place to stay
and food to eat,
did you ever imagine that
you’d grow up to be gentlemen
of the bitch, brag and bully club,
greatest generation that never lived,
double dipping scofflaws and tax cheats,
pockets stuffed with coupons and giveaways,
pushy and pokey in traffic, heavy on the horn,
forever complaining about punks,
foreigners and welfare moms,
lamenting the lack of perfection
in everything and everyone but yourselves,
food overcooked or too bloody,
too salty, too bland,
cranky old guys fuming and grouching
about noisy brats at the next table
in need of the kind of a good old-fashioned
whuppin’like the ones you got when
you were five?
Or shouldn’t have