To a Young Person

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O come, young person, come, my restless teen,

from ranch, split-level and colonial,

hop in the wagon: come see and seen

to wander the suburban shopping mall.

 

There, in the flickering fluorescent glare,

beside an artificial waterfall,

we’ll while away the hours without a care,

gazing at passersby, and have a ball.

 

The walls are glass, the floor a marble sea,

the climate under optimal control.

No wind or rain, no dank humidity

can touch you there, no dark night of the soul.

 

I’ll show you all the latest merchandise,

and clothe you in an outfit from a dream.

I’ll nourish you on pizza by the slice,

with diet soda, popcorn and ice cream.

 

I’ll whisper all the songs you think are nice,

and pierce your tender earlobe, if you dare.

I’ll furnish you with practical advice,

and fashion you a look beyond compare.

 

Come as you are, in jeans and baggy top,

come quick, before the parking spots are taken.

Once you begin, you’ll never want to stop,

and once you buy, you’ll never be forsaken.

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