I’m not one of them, I promise.

Photo by John Moeses Bauan on Unsplash

I was walking with my bike,
behind an old couple who were
talking my thoughts that
they deny
I think.

Complaining about my generation I
Would sell my soul to leave,
so I was ready to
smile and wave if they turn,
trying to be their little light
that shines on their hope
that maybe we aren’t
so bad?

They heard my bike breaks,
turned, moved,
paved the way for my
supposed ignorance
when I overtook them.

But

My smile was
accompanied with an over exaggerated
‘Thank you, have a lovely day”
like i was
smothering them with the kindness they miss
from us because

I’m not one of them.