Everyone is double-income now.
We can’t afford the past.

The future is a gift-wrapped
present.
We’re not looking,
not shaking the box,
don’t want to spoil
the surprise, the shock
of new things. New springs,
and summers, while we shiver
through autumn
and winter.
Too cold, too old,
too much doing what we’re told,
too led by the voice
telling us we’ll be next
to speak.
So we murmur to our children
‘don’t listen, don’t listen’.
But they do.