Oh, Jon--I've heard you complain
that you are too young to understand
this life, and existence, and you're pathetic
in my book--
against that sunset tonight,
you look absolutely prehistoric,
a barbarian, neanderthal,
I've been waiting for you to evolve
so that maybe we could have dinner
civilly, humanely, diginity
alas,
you remain poorly coordinated,
nonverbal, grunts and groats,
simply discovering fire makes you hot
and I'm bothered by your amazement at simple things,
I care very little about you anymore, Jon--
go to your cave and come back a man,
with shoes, and short hair,
and learned and literate and not putrid
for the sake of being putrid.
Brush your teeth, guy--
who could even try to love you?
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