A Waste of Air

What I hate most
In you, all of you
Even in me, at times
Thankless self entitlement

If you can’t speak
Or write
Or show thanks
You are a waste of air

How hard it must be
For all of you, even me
To get off our high horse
Our pedestal to express grattitude

It’s a world wide disease
That we pass on
Mother to daugher
Father to son
On and on and on
Until all the air is gone

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