Marcia LeBeau: Gen Z

It’s 10pm and I know where my children are.
I’ve known where they are every single day of their entire
lives. At some point when they are in college
or even before, I won’t know where they are. I’ll imagine them
filling up a red plastic Solo cup from a keg and spilling a little
as they look over at the girl who is calling their name and I’ll know
that I’m definitely not their number one girl anymore. I wonder
if someday someone else will make them meals or will they
be the kind of men who make their wives dinner. Maybe they
won’t end up with wives. Or partners. Maybe they won’t even
end up as men. I wonder if they will change their names. Who they’ll
want to kiss, never mind if they’ll even go to college. My daydreams
are outdated, my identity last century. I look at those sleeping souls
and I have no idea I have no idea.