They Are The Young; A Poem by Dave Jaffe

  They Are The Young.
     


    They are the young,
    I am the old
    An irritable aging scold.


    They are the young
     Their hopes aren't hung
     From dying branches
     Or wrapped in brown leaves
     That scuttle in the wind on the cold cold ground
    
       Their energetic noise
        Pushes against playground walls,
       Flies through upscale malls.
       Delights itself
       Worries teachers, tense sales staff
       And preachers.


     They don't moan or cry
      Over the crimes of Stalin or Hitler
      Or the deaths at My Lai.
       They know nothing about these things.
       Or anything thank God
      About the sod beneath the grass in Vietnam.
      Where unexploded bombs,
      Some made in Canada
      Still lie and wait to explode
      In innocent human hands.


     They clutch cell phones
      Text messages of joy and sometimes hate.
      See pornography on the web
      Have names like Seb
       Melissa, Ariana Caleb and Eden.


      They don't worry
      About shrinking social programs in Sweden
      Or elsewhere.
     
       They are the young
        Immersed ion fun
        In sports, noise
        And toys
        And other girls and boys.
        They are the young
         Forever moving.


     
       
     








 
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