Forty-thousand years ago
I was not yet born.
There was no clear cut logging,
Slow wi-fi or GMO corn.
The Federal Reserve
Had some cash they’d yet to spend
And there’d never been a war
Designed to have no end.
Alas, what we have now’s
Not what we had.
I guess that I should probably say
“My bad.”
A school shooting three times a year
Is worse than the crusades.
Sixty-eight cents on a man’s dollar
Is worse than not getting paid.
All the knowledge in the world
Is just a finger tap away,
But it can’t match the tribal elders
Saying “stone that guy. He’s gay.”
Despite the stained glass windows
God’s our middle-eastern dad,
So from this white guy to the world:
Oops, my bad.
