breaking the hip (draft)

i'm too settled in my ways
these youngins on my lawn
in my bar, on my streets
annoy me with their skinny jeans
their shoegazing bullshit
you post-emo wanna be hipster bastards
you're getting younger every year
and I'm still here
I'm still here
fucking a, why am i still here?

park slope is where
williamsburg transplants
go to breed
if you can't or don't succeed
if you are not selected for your genes
your high cheekbones your perfect ass
your trust fund your je ne sais quoi
we are shifted to the south side
to rot on kent avenue
in the old folks home of billyburg
waiting for the return
of the williamsburg strangler
drinking at the rock star bar
bitching about the rising price of things
and dying the black back in our hair
or to the top of fourth floor buildings
stretched between the Ricans and the Guineas
you'll be doing the Grand Street shake
past the Bushwick Country Club
breaking a hip to music
you're even too young for, old man.
Joe Strummer you are not
and you hipsterettes
will fade to popsicle sticks
because even in the East Village
no one stayed forever

cue the fade
begin the yuppie parade
even rosemary's will sell out
to a pink berry
and yes it's better to burn out
then fade away
but what happens to the
fifty-year old hipsters
when they're the last ones
picked in gym class
again?

even if you dress like you're a
fifteen year old from 1983
until 2023
you're can't keep this shit up forever
and eventually the casual encounters
on Craigslist won't be enough
and those who are left in the Burg
won't be cool anymore

what then?

what

THEN?

you are not a rockstar
barista
bartender
bike messenger

what

NOW?