GENERATION X LOVE
She senses his interest in her,
A Generation X woman
Who never liked Billy Idol,
Who never read Dennis Coupland.
She’s a free swinger, a top hand player,
Drives a hard POV, like a car salesman.
He’s intrigued by her silence. By what
Little she says. He wonders who she is not.
He’s a tradionalist, a team player,
A throwback to the silent generation.
A man set in his ways,
Unwilling to change or learn,
Slow to adapt technologically.
Yet, a hard worker.
At night, in bed, beneath the covers
They strip, remove their masks.
She steals your heart from your chest,
Leaves you with an aching, empty cavity,
A black hole imploding in your tiny, miniscule universe.
She offers you tea from China and Hors d'oeuvres,
Pate on ceramic plates, a foie gras feast.
A chance to redeem yourself.
You’re all good for nothing.
You play on our emotions.
You think you know us.
Then in the third act
You reveal yourself
To be us in disguise.