Stratifying the Stress

You rue the red in stop-signs, say it jolts your worldview, yet salivate when that same red rolls by with white and blue. You loathe when I go bingeing, say my whisky’s not the best. But Christ, what I would give to see your Ritalin take a rest! You race your soccer star to games in a galloping SUV, then deign to give my son the reins to wax it for a fee. My daughter’s just turned hooker while your darling’s on some quest. If zip code’s proof of pedigree, why crank out family crest? My means are fast diminishing, while yours just jog on through. It’s clearly more than shock and awe that alienates us two.