The Lost Generation
The kids aren't all right.
8 AM wake-up call, another day for another dollar,
or so it goes with that minimum-wage life,
and your head felt like it barely hit the pillow
before you were waking up for another shift.
the Cheerios are stale, but you crunch them down,
with the milk about a day to expire (tastes just fine),
and you can hear your mom through her closed door,
probably getting ready for another video interview.
you don’t forget to grab your mask on your way out,
all prepared for another public transit nightmare
in a time when “essential” means little room
for the ones who have no choice but to work.
on the news you saw the debate for an increase
to a minimum wage that can no longer support
the people who need to live on it to survive—
but it’s all a wash anyway, dead on arrival.
the convenience store haze, with the customers
who yell and snark and haggle over clearance items,
makes you bleary-eyed and tired—all the more
because a man tells you to smile for him (ugh).
and then on the ride home you’re nearly falling
asleep, mask still in place after eight hours
where you could barely breathe as it was
(and doesn’t that just strike a nerve?).
but your day isn’t over because there’s still work
to do, of the school variety, and you can barely
keep your eyes open as you squint at a screen—
yeah, you won’t miss this pandemic life.
About the Creator
Jillian Spiridon
just another writer with too many cats
twitter: @jillianspiridon
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