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




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