On soft mattress strut folk
in pink of youth, with smug brow;
eyes glued to the net, ever awake
to the vistas titillating here and now.
A chip on shoulder, they walk
as if the world is under their feet;
table talk spiced with right lingo
smile a credit card for business talk,
proud of the halo of the elite,
they’ve all the trappings of a star;
a vendor`s haggling on the street
has not the sheen of this suave war;
Holy Mary! Hail the entry of the new tribe,
All’re gilt-edged, not the least bribe.