We see them –
slim, clear-skinned, hair flying,
spewing vitality as they steal the streets,
gracing us with with the everyday beauty of youth –
a fleeting gift to each generation
As you take them in,
memory stirs a longing
and envy translates to anger.
Bitter words trickle from your folded lips:
Young idiots. look at them, running around like the world owes them a living. No respect. We would never have got away with it when we were young.
Which strikes me as funny,
because we did –
we got away with laughing and feeling free.
your slimy filth spattering on the pavement to fester
until the rain washes it away.
Age gives me the grace to behave disgracefully,
©Jane Paterson Basil
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