The Skin Of Your Teeth Poem by Francie Lynch

I used to find a pop bottle
And cash it in for a two-cent grab-bag.
Three could get me a five-cent
Wine-dipped cigarillo
To smoke in the dug-out on a Sunday afternoon
With my best friend.
We went door-to-door
Collecting bottles, clothes-hangers and baskets,
Get fifteen cents and play a game in the pool hall;
We traded old Supermans for older Batmans.
Successive generations decrie
Their loss of innocence,
But this one tweets, twitters and instas;
I see ultra-sounds of small penises, and more.
There goes the last surprise.
I'd rather loose innocence than privacy,
For after that,
All you've left
Is the skin of your teeth.