Looking out my Backdoor: Confessions of an unknown poet

Times Were Simpler

We like to imagine

Times were simpler then.

We brag to grandchildren,

Honey, when I was your age

I walked a mile

To school every day,

Barefoot, through the snow,

Uphill both ways. They laugh.

We romanticize the past,

Ignore ugly parts, piece a mosaic

Of what we wish to keep.

If only we could turn back

The clock a hundred years …

Times were no different.

Wars, inequity, cruelty,

Hatred, disease … The same.

We were simpler then.

Poetry? Ewww. Not that awful incomprehensible stuff we were forced to read in high school and try to niggle-pickle a meaning! Not that!

Not that, but...