Silent Protest
SILENT PROTEST
You forget O children, your embodiment in the old —
how we live again and again through you. You choose
to ditch the dress up clothes, wedding rings and such.
Perhaps our gray skin and wrinkles are caused by the blunder.
Look at the baptism of babes, cradled in white negligees
— virginal prowess with maternal instincts leaning toward
the grave future. Our children throw dungarees upon
countless generations with scuffed up knees, rolled up shirts.
Our spineless arrows place a bullseye before each child’s eye
leading them to think they are — all — the prize. Scuff marks
explore the floor leaving no shine — a mother’s most inclined
to scrub up the mess her Suzy-Q’s and Johnny’s left behind.
The old black and white films, in silent protest, leave a stamp
of gentlemen suits and modest dress for ladies, jokes without
crass behavior — rated G for grand, great and gallant. For sure
some broke the rules, but the boundary was there, for the fool.
2/6/2018
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