Rabbits

They race like rabbits,
Too fast for an old hound
To keep apace.
Who'd want them, anyway?
Vapid in speech, idle in thought,
Plugged into devices,
Proud of their skinblots
And painted nails (no longer risqué),
Megabushel consumers
And multitun wasters,
These sowers of future
Humanity-seeds
Have thousand-acre expectations,
Ambitions disproportionate to
Their flowerpot reality.
They throng with their peers
In beer halls and bars,
Get high and shed tears
Over dead-end jobs,
Never pausing to ponder
The fate of their world.

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I applaud you, Wilyem, on this evocative piece of truthful poetry. A bitter pill of truth that hurts and helps. Wonderful and very wise work, indeed. CLE