In warm months I sit in a summery haze,
And harken back to the good old days,
When helmets and sunblock not in use,
Did not meet with accusations of child abuse.

And we spoke freely without worrying about connotations,
Of possible discriminations,
And people not on the verge of being homicidal,
All for the lack of thought to recycle.

We didn’t have to worry about being thought a sinner,
For serving our children frozen dinners,
And food served a purpose to tantalize,
Not ruined by critics who analyze.

And while our years may have increased in quantity,
Perhaps it makes up for what it’s lost in quality,
But if you don’t mind, I’ll be going back a bit,
To the years when no one gave a shit.