One worries so much for the self-serving teen
Who gazes all day at bland fast-flashing screens,
When confronted with life, so harsh and so true,
One wonders, in fact, if he’ll know what to do.

Has he felt a strong wind, blowing fast through his hair?
Does he know what it’s like to kiss girls on a dare?
When he sees a man’s pain, curled up on the street,
Will he pause for a breath, give him something to eat?

Will he impart to a girl, the gift of his love,
Or will he decide “ur hawt” is enough?
Can he sit on a train, and ponder his life,
Or are terse fleeting texts the extent of his strife?

Will he race on the streets with his friends for no reason,
Or is unfettered motion the height of all treason?
Will he lounge in a meadow and play silly games,
Will he idly state, “hell naw dude, that’s lame”?

Can he stare at a bug for hours on end,
Play cowboys and indians, just for pretend?
Can he throw back his head, guffaw ’til he’s numb,
And laugh at dumb jokes, just ’cause they’re dumb?

Will he lie in the grass, and point out a cloud,
Or seal off his ears and play music too loud?
Is he really impressed by films in HD,
Though he opens his eyes and see that for free?

Can he sit on the ground, cross-legged, and read,
And turn the book’s pages and relish with greed
New faraway worlds, with lovers and passions,
Or will he still worship the vapid Kardashians?

He must unglue himself from his much-too-smart phone
Or he’ll look up one day and find he’s alone.
If he looks at these words and derides this description,
He’s probably right, life lacks a prescription.


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