My mum used to pause her reading now and then.
Rustle the paper. Give a sigh.
Then, looking over her glasses to us kids at play,
“I don’t know what this World is coming to”
She’d say.

Of course, we never used to listen.
What child ever did or does?
Which probably explains the reason why mums still say
I don’t know what the World is coming to
Today.

I mean, Black Lives Matter, of course they do.
And Social Distancing, it ain’t much fun.
But gracious me, with all that stuff on social media, eh?
I don’t know what the World is coming to
Today.

You poor fools!
Pity be upon you!
You are practicing
A dying art form!

Do you not realize,
That poetry is biased
Towards the literate?

There once was a time
When the scribes were
Revered as gods, but
Regrettably, that time
Has long since passed.

Now, we live in an age of
Constant, electronic stimulation,
Mediated by a steady flux of
Ready made imagery, where

Flashing lights and bright colors
Whittle away at the attention span, and
Destroy the capacity of the mind
To imagine for itself, so

Keep your word count low, and
Your syllable count lower, or
You just may lose your audience.