Ceramic Elephants

I wish my life was like an Urban Outfitters catalog --
at my age, a ridiculous desire, yet still, I want it.
Those kids look like they're having so much fun with their records
and their beer tumblers emblazoned with the words 'slut' and 'douchebag'.
Those crazy kids with their ivy-league educations and their
summers spent in The Hamptons, or in Morocco or Paris.
They gallivant in cut-off's, forced shabby chic, with the back-up
of Daddy's credit card and Mommy's guilt from being away,
never fully present (extended cocktail hours, pill-popping).
Those kids, poor orphans, are forced to reinvent themselves through style,
modern art, macrame plant holders, ceramic elephants,
marijuana cookbooks, paisley-print sheets, fruit-scented perfume,
Indian-inspired jewelry, and pomegranate candles.
They create a space, all their own, in their dormitory rooms,
hosting parties on their magic carpets, drinking from tumblers.
They make toasts, and eat hors d'oeuvres; Life stretches out in front of them,
glossy, immaculate, full of endless possibilities.