At the far end of town behind the tall gates
where McMansions all sit in perpetual states
of manicured lawns
and it never once dawns
that it’s no longer the year 1988.

There in the house that he bought pre-bubble,
sits The Boomer, all comfy, and online he huddles.
From behind his Twitter and Facebook he rants,
“You can’t call me ‘Boomer,’
Oh no!
No, you can’t!

“You snowflake millennials who can’t hold a job!
You’re too busy eating pricey avocad—
—o toast and ass while vaping, it’s true,
but don’t call me ‘Boomer’ because I’ll show you…”

But wait just a minute, before we continue,
it might help to explain why with every sinew
The Boomer can’t stand to be called what he is
why he rants and he rails,
and shouts, “Oh geez whiz!”

He is shortish and bossy, entitled and bold,
but it’s mainly important you know that he’s old.

For you see it’s quite simple, The Boomer is one
who loves to take credit for things he ain’t done,
yet demanding respect despite bad things he did
like the wars that he wages of which we’ll never be rid,
and for bringing the Earth to the ruinous brink,
what does he expect others to do or to think?

The Boomer lays claim to the things that were built
on the backs of his parents and yet feels no guilt
for harassing anyone younger than he,
calling them “snowflakes” and chuckling with glee.

The Boomer believes without any truth
his generation’s the greatest and scoffs at the youth.

“Back in my day,” he says as he shakes a frail fist,
“we worked jobs that paid quite enough to subsist
on, and so ZUBBLE-DEE ZIST
meanwhile all you kids still live with your parents!”

Via snargelly memes shared in snargelly groups
The Boomer and friends all snicker and whoop!

“Millennials and that X Generation
only put down their phones with the greatest frustration!”

Haha-hee, haha-ho, and an “LOL” too,
The Boomer and friends give a hullabaloo.
Every person who wasn’t exactly like them
they scoffed at,
and laughed at,
and roundly condemned.

“‘Free healthcare’ you scream, ‘and even freer tuition,’
but while I am here that won’t come to fruition!
When I was your age I paid for all my own classes,
Three dollars per credit, you can bet all your asses!

“We were spiritual hippies who all loved each other!
We stopped racism cold and called the Earth ‘Mother,’
We invented good music and had tons of sex,
while you kids these days just do stuff that perplex—
—es us and befuddles us too.
Can’t you see we all hate that which is new?”

Then something happened in those decades that passed,
he fell out of touch while his wealth just amassed.
While The Boomer still thought of himself as quite vital,
the truth was he’d grown more than a little entitled.

As The Boomer raised factories all over the land
he never once thought it had got out of hand.

“Look, snowflakes,” he said. “There's no cause for alarm.
We’re just drilling for oil, it’s doing no harm!
In fact it’s quite useful, a thing we all need!
Without it your cars, you’d surely concede,
wouldn’t run at all so you can’t call this greed!”

He laughed as he told about bottomless earnings,
and martini lunches, and sexual yearnings.

“My business grew bigger and bigger it got!
I biggered my smokestacks and paved parking lots,
and set about making these single-use plastics,
which you’ve got to admit are quite frim-fram-tastic!

“And, in no time at all, in this new world I built,
the whole Boomer Family was working full tilt.
But not just drilling and fracking, oh no there’s much more!
We invented sub-prime mortgages, of that you can be sure.

“We voted for Reagan and Bush, 1 and 2!
If you thought that was bad, well, we’re hardly through!
Since we hate paying taxes, whether boom or a slump,
we also gave you that orange Once-ler Trump!”

And high up above the great unwashed masses
The Boomer still sits as his judgment he passes.
Pompous and smug, he pontificates loudly.
His pride is unearned, yet he smiles quite proudly.

“While you sit and you whine all day about debt,
a ruined environment, yet for all that I bet,
you haven’t an ethic that impels you to work,
while complaining comes naturally to all of you jerks!
So don’t call me Boomer, it makes me upset,
just for doing these things without an ounce of regret!”

Then from far down below in the mucky-luck streets
comes a chorus of cries saying, “We’ve got receipts!
You shout about Woodstock and own second houses,
but wrecked the economy and cheat on your spouses!

“Oh, Boomer you’ve brought us to the edge of collapse,
and you chide us while we are all fighting for scraps!
Don’t you know that your children will never retire?
Because of your SUVs the West Coast’s on fire?

“We pay half our wages to rent some cramped housing,
from landlords like you so here’s what we’re espousing:
Just shut up and, please, just do that sincerely.
Your conduct has cost us, and cost us severely.

“The deficit’s awful, our future hopes shrink,
the debt-to-GDP ratio’s starting to stink.
We each work two jobs while still driving for Lyft,
can’t you see we’re in trouble and we’re all adrift?
So thanks, Mr. Boomer, for this generational rift.

“And as for you ending racism’s blights?
We’re sorry to tell you about the Alt-Right.”

Then once more from behind his Facebook he rants,
“You can’t call me ‘Boomer,’
Oh no!
No, you can’t!”

“How dare you?” he shouts and he rages and vents.
“I’m a victim!” he cries and he sobs and laments.

He won’t pay one more dime to the tax man,
and he’ll drill for more oil as fast as he can.
For his time’s running out, though he’s loath to admit
that he’s leaving us all with a world gone to shit.

And yet seeing his wrinkles and thinning white hair,
he demands we continue to fund Medicare.

“You’re committing a hate crime!” he yells with ill-humor
But all that he’ll hear are the words “Ok boomer.”
As the people below now all turn to inveigh—
“Ok boomer,” they shout, “ok boomer, ok!”