I do not care to hear yet further
Twists and tangles and delectable perversities
Of the decadent world. No longer fascinating,
No longer shocking, still scary and amazing I
Suppose, it's mostly just tiresome to live with.
I want to know something else. Where do
Pecans and the wind come from? They
Do, you know. And what will you or I do
If we are not dead when the decadent world does die,
No longer to produce opulence of such
High quality garbage on which to live.
When no one is turning out used mittens,
Second quality pizza crusts, or retread knees.
What happens when the old people all have
Hydraulic-failed hips that drop them
On their asses and Swiss cheese memories, and
The young people have all been forbidden by law
From becoming competent at anything, and credentials,
Medicaid, and Social Security have all turned to
Soft pretzels in a Radio City rain?