Poem: The Fourth Turning for Generation X

 

Here's a poem I wrote a couple months ago.  As people here know, I have written about the generations for years. I will include the caveat for this too like other generation articles, not all members of a generation are bad, many are good people, so forth and so on. This points to general trends.

The Fourth Turning for Generation X

As the poles started to shift

The wolf arrived back at the door

(we never got used to its hot breath)

There's nowhere to run 

with empty pockets.

Mothers in her second home

sunning under the psalm tree

"You have nothing to show

for your life".

She told me when I hit 40

Perhaps under the Underpass one day

we can smell the burning roast beef

of our memories

VC Andrews books were traded in secret

We were reading about our betraying mothers

The crawling vines on the covers

stretched out for our wrists

Studs Lonigan died at 29

the Tenements had no mercy

Temp Slave continued

adjuncts hired

the union-busting won

and vacations vanished

retirement isn't there.

We've lost friends so young.

Dancing natives on the wall and

heavy pink ashtrays falling onto shag carpet

The lawn chairs folded in a rusty heap

The "me generation" faced

Vietnam, had apple pie and Evel Knievel

flying over those cars like gravity

stepped aside for him.

Slackers working 80 hours a week

were noticed only while sleeping.

We xeroxed zines and drew cartoons

of daily life. Factsheet Five listed them all

with Riot Grrl and Bust. 

Clerks bored stiff, we knew the world

could not be saved. Kurt said as much.

It made more sense to disengage with

Nine Inch Nails our soundtrack of anger

Our love bloomed hotter, with arms wrapped

around leather jackets.

Steinem preached empowerment via career

the bosses were more friendly then

and in the days of high heels

it fooled us. 

I took care of other people's children instead

of having my own. 

Remember when we could talk (in the record stores)

we could joke, laugh and not guard our words

like soldiers on a hill

(don't slip up)

the Prophets kept speaking

never a moment of silence

for the Nomads to talk

Bill and Ted still had adventures

at the peak of history but

then hit speed bumps of social inequity

The mushroom cloud of student debt

Service McJobs for subzero wages. 

Everyone wanted to be a rock star

Dressed in black with silver chains

The stoic faced goths, punks, grunge and metal heads

went into the kitchen to put the hair net on

and red uniform with plastic nametag

that always made our butts look too big

There were wine coolers in the fridge

and passion below the Joshua Tree

The young used to fly free and talk smack

the tyranny of the old held back

Greetings and Salutations through

a broken radio.

Gen Z seems so obedient

(why didn't they ever rebel)

We ran through fields and woods

dodging each other

They never left the basement or the screen

their pasty skin led

to grey auras popping up like mushrooms.

It was time to flee the god of this world

We were already deemed cynics

by pampered idealists.