bordering on ingrown
I watch my peers wobbly
trampling their myriad
and erroneously as ‘middle age’.
We are older, certainly wiser?
What, when, why, how still the
great mysteries – though less
angsty then in our youth –
at least on the surface.
‘We’ and ‘us’ don’t predominate;
cliques are out – unless you don’t
disagree with each other’s political
harangues and hero worship.
‘I’ and ‘them’ have become prideful
accusations we throw like confetti;
paradoxically, we are much too
individualistic to ever again be
a viable majority.
We sprang from the womb of
Camelot; cut our teeth on televised
assassinations, moonwalks, riots,
‘third rate burglaries’ and now
everything is tawdry
Our generational pre-occupation
with celebrity and public scandal,
self-pity, moralizing tsk-tsking
perplexes us whenever we look
– really look- in a mirror.
It aint always pretty.