I write this poem back in 1996. Not about anyone in particular… but I found it in a stash of old files, and I think my old college poetry is kind of cool to stumble across!
Your folks have been keeping up with the Jones’s so long
You thought they’d never die:
Collecting a backyard full of motorhomes,
They don’t understand your scowl,
ripped shirt, side-burned…
Daddy’s deep pockets buy you
cigarettes and caffeine,
so you can long strung-out sucked-in-cheeks.
Poor boy rich kid,
skinny by choice,
fat daddy fat wallet
you whine for canned beef stew.
slug in a civil oak ring
to support your shifty-eyed