What’s mine is mine, and it is HUGE

The old 
wrinkle their brows,

raise their jiggling arms and shout about

Treason-the youth are corrupt-and abruptly adding accusations

-they all cheated!
Blame like a sneeze

spreads its tiny germ spray every which way-

They, the old, 
say, the way it was in the old days,

I remember walking to school uphill both ways in the snow. 
You don’t know

about hard work.

those blooming golden years, we feared our elders.

The old ones 
tell the youth not to speak until spoken to,

and a hard days work is good for you.

The old tell tales of poverty, the great depression of souls, the cookie cutter worker.

The old warn the youth 
to learn from their calluses.

And not act so callous or abrasive,

and then something about the bees, 
being sweet and golden, sonny or honey and save your money
where your mouth is.

The young are working smarter, these days.

More progress means more pleasure in so many ways.

The youth 
do as they are told,

attend institutions that guarantee debt and teach less interest.

The youth 
learn about the old.

The youth owe the old. 
The youth have it made.

The youth are innovators. 
The young are not industrialists or enslavers, nor fans of manual hard labor.

Because it is better now. 
The old made it so.

How do we know?
They promised

more mines will open, and more minds will close. 
And due our diligence,

they make the youth pay to clear cut seas of trees, 

frack up, suck out, spill in, roll up our fit-bits and toil all over

Again.

The old learn mistakes.
The old American Dream was just a defunct memory 
of manufacturing

*Happiness*
the old way. 

The youth capitalize on these readymades.

                        A.I. doesn’t cost overtime, or demand PTO.

Robots reject bonuses and all bribes or benefits, 

vacations are not upgrades, but memory dumps
feel good at any age. 

The youth all know, 
long florescent office hours, kill creative powers.

The old said, dagnabbit, you youth with your lazy habits

and liberal use of Free Time-You’re Fired!

The youth had already quit

listening.

The old finally retired,

near blind and deaf, nearly senseless,

by thin hair and poking chin, struggled to keep up

and it made them flaming angry

about their own fragile mortality.

The youth became immune and inspired

to change old ways,

retrofit America to Be

Come Great

for the First time 
in the making of History,

truly tiny

by popularity vote.

Painting by Jan Steen (1625/1626–1679) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "As the old sing, so twitter the young", c. b/w 1663-1665.