Generational Divides on a Thursday
This morning I went to vote: bright eyed and hopeful.
'I'll show them', I thought.
As I pay for my ticket home, I resent their freedom passes:
I've made myself broke with oyster as they swipe away care free.
But then I saw an old man buy a can of tango from a vending machine
and it made me wonder at the divide between young and old.
Both feel silenced.
He walks back to his little purple suitcase and waits for the train to come,
fizzy apple can in hand.
The paradox is the street was his oyster but the world is mine.
We are compelled to endlessly roam,
'settle down' well out of sight.
But perhaps he would like to feel his life in his palm, knowledge and connection at his fingertips.
Perhaps he would have liked the risk I am resigned to.
So I shall not resent his comfort but smile and suggest a smoothie instead of tango.
It's not that I won't challenge but I will stop coveting that which I am destined not to have.
Home is not a house and life is not for settling.