The Ageist Elderly Man with no Arms in the Parked Car

[billy]

nothing but an odd nit here. the transfiguration from fictional to some kind of corporeal being worked much better than i thought it would. maybe the 4th line is a little weak but it didn't take anything from the poem. the associations between age and youth while common, worked really well in giving the poem a great tone.

i think it's worthy of submitting.
thanks for the read. (and the feedback elsewhere)

I'm getting ready to submit some poems, and I'm on the fence about this one:

The Ageist Elderly Man with No Arms in the Parked Car great title.

My author abandoned me,
an armless old man trapped is the author the armless old man? i know he isn't but it's a niggle
in a parked car
on a winter morning.

I was written with no personality, this is where it gets interesting and funny
flat, no redeeming character traits,
and I can only solicit help
by yelling at passing children,

ignorant, with their Internet,
lazy, letting technology
cook their food,
pregnant at thirteen. i like the ageist parts you show here

The girls dress like prostitutes,
showing leg and midriff alike,
waving hello with their cleavage.
Women in my day were refined. i like how the writing (armless guy has come to life in a real way.

The boys lack a shred of respect
for an elderly gentleman like me.
They make jokes at my expense,
mocking my age, downplaying my experience.

I didn’t witness the wheel’s creation.
I didn’t bring fire down from Olympus.
I never hunted a dinosaur,
and I never met President Jackson.

They’re throwing gravel at my window now,
spitting at me through the glass,
displaying their hindquarters.
I think the author wrote them flat too.

I don’t deserve this. it seems so right that he's a whiner
I was a war hero in Vietnam.
I drew out the enemy by burning down huts.
I killed twenty-three men with my fist.

You would think that means something,
but society doesn’t seem to think so.
I wonder when he’s coming back with those meatballs.
I really hate children. good solid finish

My author abandoned me,
an elderly man with no arms,
in a parked car.

He forgot to give me personality.
I’m flat, and all I do to find help
is yell at passing children,

ignorant, with their Internet,
lazy, letting technology
cook their food.

They throw rocks at the window,
spit at me through the glass.
I think he wrote them flat too.

He’s in the store, buying meatballs.
I wonder when he’ll come back.
They can’t be that hard to find.

They’re right next to the rolls,
I told him – aisle 13, frozen foods.
I really hate children.