we'll be spitting polite conversation
while our collective children,
gently jumping doubble dutch on the lawn,
are practicing for life
with how well they pretend
to get along.

they'll be growing up
and any hint they had
of any innocence gone
when they first hear they're in
for dante's nine
they'll bite our feeding hands
and live as harbingers
of high-sardonic eye contact
and wonder why we think
they'll give a penny
for our thick skinned
and closed minded opinions

and we will welcome backhand
over high heels, turn tails and
runner upward motion fatigue
kept us sitting ducks you're
headed for an endgame league.

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