The Generation Gap

 
 

From It’s Hard to Be Hip Over Thirty and Other Tragedies of Married Life by Judith Viorst

Our sons are growing up
And any day now
They’ll be sniffing glue,
Smoking pot,
Slipping LSD into their cream of wheat,
And never trusting anyone over thirty,
Even parents
Who once sang Foggy Foggy Dew
In youth hostels,
And Freiheit
In trench coats on the Fire Island ferry.

Our sons are growing up
And any day now
They’ll be burning draft cards,
Doubting the Warren Commission,
Saying God is dead,
And never trusting anyone over thirty,
Even parents
Who once deplored prejudice
In petitions,
And capital punishment
In unpublished letters to the Times.

Our sons are growing up
And any day now
They’ll be doing their own thing,
Telling it like it is,
Denouncing the military-industrial complex,
And never trusting anyone over thirty,
Even parents
Who tried agitation
Before they did,
And alienation
Before they did,
And once never trusted anyone
Over thirty.

 

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