Fading slowly from the existential struggle, Waving their MePhones about in protest, They swarm to Starbuck’s for adjective coffees, Uniformed in knee-pants and bulbous sneaks And Chinese soccer tops with little checkmarks, Their graduate degrees at parade rest, And in confusion, suddenly-stalled careers Raging against the thirty-something machine. Not trusting anyone under forty, They rustle their foam cups and resumes’ Instead of suspicious Democrats, And demand promotions and Perrier. They mourn pinstripes and leather briefcases, And the old floppy disc of yesteryear, And fumble their PowerPoint Presentations Tho’ once they illuminated the world With colored markers on glossy whiteboard. They no longer play games on a Commodore Or rock to neo-Carib fusion jazz; Their Rush is Right baseball caps are now filed In trays of antique curiosities Beside the moldering hippie stuff shelved In an adjunct of the Smithsonian Where curricula vitae go to be eaten By a computer virus named Vlad. Now, as the sun sets on Ferris Bueller’s day They count and verify their MeBook friends - They did not change the world, not at all, but The world changed anyway, and without them, And in the end they love neither Jesus Nor The Force; like Eve, they bow to an Apple.