People will talk to you like that
just because they assume
you're a relatively new arrival
on Main Street means
you haven't lived anywhere else
and haven't seen anyplace else
and that somehow, the people here
in this particular place, are unique
on a planet harboring 9 billion souls
trampling depleted soil
and fucking like rabbits
to make more people
because children are the future
of social security … in addition to
being the ones who will fix
all of our mistakes, and the ones
who will pay for all of our sins –
unless, of course, they learn from us
and (as we'd prefer) deify us
after we're dead
and absolve us in their memories.
It's not that you're wrong, they say; it's only that
you don't understand (and couldn't possibly
since your parents aren't buried on Boot Hill)
and it might just be better
to leave these things
to the people who know better –
or at the very least, the people
who's families we have known
our entire lives and who
we don't mind belittling since
we knew them when they were in diapers...
which will rob any man of his dignity
whether he deserves it or not. But you,
you see, we don't know
the measure of you and we have nothing
to hold over you and when you speak
you speak like someone
who isn't one of us
and who never will be –
though your kids might have a shot.