Old men with dogs roam the neglected park
Where they once played as boys. Now
take a peep
Into the lounge of Number Twenty
Three
The Meads. Four sturdy youngsters sit
Before a slick computer, playing
games.
A milky, midget, artifical sky
Holds them enraptured. Sterile
bullets flash
And flicker, stuttering across the
screen,
While Mother whisks around her
microwave
Preparing instant meals from plastic
packs.
Better
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
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