She rides her motorized scooter
to the morning gathering place.
Lights her cigarette,
she interrupts the scuttlebutt
by clearing her throat.

When I was young,
no no-account child would run
in front of my scooter. She patted
it like a favorite steed.

The conversation turned
to the no-accountedness
of the next generation.
I listen quietly, nodding my head
at each punctuation.
Remembering my grandfather saying
similar words.

–of this generation.