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Mick Jagger's girlfriend
is dead He is distraught over the loss of his long-time companion. It is a trend, they say. People of a certain age are dying dropping like flies, fallen leaves, too old, they've been told, they've lost their usefulness. Value is bright and shiny and belongs to youth. Woe to the dulled copper pennies of life, woe that they feel a certain uselessness. Out-moded, they are yesterday's non-computerized generation, looking for meaning but living well beyond their expiration dates. Inferred: Its not too late to kick the bucket, blast yourself back into the auto-matonic outer space. Return your star dust back to God. How irresponsible of the Un-News-Worthy Newscaster to spew her doom over the airwaves. "They are dying in waves," she brayed... "Well before their time and by their own hands." Are ages 49 to 64 leaving because they've been penciled out of future's plans? Reaching my left hand right into the guts of the radio, I wanted to shake the sunshine from a voice trained to be unnaturally cheerful. Sickened by her earfuls. And so, the twenty-somethings blubber and deplore their joblessness or underemployment, much too outraged and crippled by their school time debt. At least they haven't been counted out of the living, yet. I am sad for Mr. Jagger's Girlfriend. Who had her own name. Who had a birth, and many years in between a shortened life. Who thought she'd out-lived her usefulness. I understand. She deserves a better epitaph than long-time companion. Copyright March 20, 2014 all rights reserved by this author/ Meloo/ Melissa A Howells site: Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
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