by Shareen Knight

Oh you young whippersnappers,

vampires flinging down your words

like petticoats, not stones,

don’t call your mother a whore

and stop blaming my generation

for all your woes.

 

Take up a pen, if you must, but please stop

your simpering prose. First, name a grandchild

or two. Wait until you’ve crossed the country

a time or two. Slept beside the road in Big Sur,

then you’ll know the price of rice.

That is if you don’t run straight home from such a rude waking.

Wait until you’ve tried a dozen or more professions

before you try to tell anyone how hard it is

on the soft side of your lazy life. Then, we will listen.

Because you’ve paid the price of admission.

And, it will show.

So, keep writing.

And talking your game.

You’ll get there, if you’re not too careful.

THE END

Shareen Knight is an artist and playwright who loves images and the rhythms created by words.