GENERATION Y WUZ HERE
Titles make me shake my head. This is me,
forcing the landscape to oscillate. It goes
through the string of the tin can phone that we
invented as kids, so goddamn long ago.
This is what we spoke about: bespoke suits,
missing spokes, Bicycle cards, & what we called
token jokes. In the sidewalk, tree roots,
unbeknownst to us, were creeping up like skewbald
ponies & the shadows were deepening.
We were getting older, the fun was over.
Mr. this & Mrs. that started happening,
my Fido, your Rover. A box of Russell Stover
& a two-leafed-clover. Our luck ran out;
we’re the last of the full-time roustabouts.