My generation starts to feel its age.
We harden arteries, repair our hair,
deplete our bones of calcium, and wage
cosmetic war to try to hide the wear.
And world recession takes away from us
the consolation that our parents had,
who justified their agonies and fuss
by figuring we wouldn’t have it bad.

As you arise all creaky from your bed
and taste your morning breath, attend my voice.
For I can’t tell you how to get ahead,
but I can lay before you simple choice:
it’s either use your muscles and your mind,
or don’t complain you’ve left yourself behind.