Cranky old, grouchy guys in undershirts,
hanging fat hairy arms out of car windows
as they zip in and out of traffic:
retirees on the dole, Medicare cheats,
griping at post offices across America,
dumping ashes on parking lot asphalt,
flicking fast food wrappers into the air,
taxing slick tires on curves
through national forests,
happily lying on income tax forms,
shoplifting when they can;
haven’t voted in years,
mooch off grandkids,
harangue neighbors
for cheap entertainment;
brag they were in the infantry but
don’t know a mortar from an M-l,
hang flags on their RV’s every Fourth
to piggyback on The Greatest Generation;
two helpings on Thanksgiving
at the community center;
cantankerous geezers coughing dark clouds
of spite from the tail pipes of vintage trucks
as they blow by mountain bikers on the highway;
pissing and moaning to bored wives
about the youth of today, slumming until
their actuarial tables max out
Once a punk, always a punk