Your honks
Now come with trigger warnings
Right of way to shark boy and his three-wheeled scooter
Mommy’s on the Gram
Pleasantries her traffic light 
Right Fake on Go
Daddy’s pushing stroller for the akita  

Your Uniqlo’s swapped floors
Women take the stairs now
Must be the patriarchy.
Your men no longer navigate the elevator
In fact they think it’s theirs 
Pizza parties fifteenth floor
This hotel is for them too.   

You’ll no less bring back cargo pants
Guy Harvey tees to follow
And then froyo 
Post-modern Tasti-D-Lites 
But like pus I love watching you
seethe under pressure, this island your pore.  

Bile-puddled paths
Neighbor nestled nooks
For retweets and spritzes
And avocado toast that doesn’t fucking belong.  

You’re growing soft, you old fart
Soft and pudgy
Pop-up shops for drove-in Four-Wheeler Photo booths
Chino shorts on your mother’s credit card
Self-fulfillment you’re all Trumps. 

You’re working on your trash
Your notice taken with the rats
Your bins overflowing still
You keep digging yourself into a maze.   

Astounding really
I hope you’re proud and loud
No Grace filter for your Selfie? 
That’s really at the marrow, isn’t it
You think you’re hyper cool and
Hyper-safe
I was roofied once in a ghost building now a Gelateria
You walk now with your head facing the opposite direction Slower now
No jaywalking now
And yet you’ve become indignant
Dare I say boring
Good job my Prince
You’ve turned yourself into Vegas.   

Fuck you.