Kids These Days Are So Entitled

 

Kids these days are so entitled.

 Get everything

    they think

    they need.

New clothes

New phones

New meals

    when 

    what is served doesn't suit.

Like shoes from last month--

    nothing less than the latest.

We blame, and shame, and 

    whisper

    their names around 

    quilt frames,

    we claim

    our seams run straight

    intentions pure.

    (I'm not so sure)

We think and deceive

    ourselves to believe

    these hands 

    are clean.

Not grasping truth:

    we also 

    seize fruit

    not meant for us to consume.

Dopamine dream by another name

    we selfishly sow

    our own tidy row.

Delight to the eyes

    intent to be wise.

Then cast stones 

    toward the crop

    a generation will reap,

    and we weep

    and we speak--

Choosing platform

    over alter

    pausing seldom

    to discover--

We don't change children

    by shouting from sidelines:

"Why are these kids so entitled?"

-------------------------------------

I'm unsure whether this poem is 

finished, or still a work in progress. 

Likely I'm breaking some unwritten 

rule by publishing when that is unclear.

Ah well, C'est la vie.  This process has 

been invaluable in teaching me it's ok

to write a lot of not-so-stellar things--

growth of a skill isn't glamorous.

A friend shared the opinion that she 

thinks this poem might belong in the

category of spoken word poetry. I suspect 

she is right. I found myself dramatically 

speaking lines aloud as I wrote.

I'd love to hear from those who play with

poetry.  Is your preference structure and

rhythm or do you wander into the weeds

of free verse?