A young generation comes to lounge.
Feet on top. Absorbed by flatscreen,
lost in plush and fluff.
But Chez felt patronized- sat on.
He was an intellectual.
He knew exactly how much change lay beneath his covers.
He knew how to work the remote,
and he’d watch the science channel while the kids were at school.
Chez tried to keep his distance from the boisterous youth.
But children see trampolines, forts, and monsters to destroy.
Slowly accumulating stains and tears,
he succumbed to a garbage heap.
Now reciting the magnificence of quantum electrodynamics
to unplugged refrigerators;
and discussing other worlds
with down-pointed telescopes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem