Sure,

          there will be time for skin rejuvenation,

for liposuction, surgery and saline implantation.

There will be

dime

there will be

to elevate esteem through endless selfies.

Time to YouTube trending charities,

exclaim against disparity

and time above all else to Skype your prate,

while you chemically peel and ultra-light hydrate

and when you've hashtagged, Hearted, Instagrammed

FaceBooked cover versions of your current fave band,

time to bauble

time to plume

to douse arousing clouds of some celebrity's perfume

before departing to go clubbing,

luridly costumed.

On the floor, the tattooed bitch and moan

disproving the charms of the nubile Emma Stone.

For of course, there will be time,

we           will             make 

to flick through Flickr and fickly pick a fad

with insouciance more (t)rad(g)ical than rad.

Time to don designer wear - elite though hardly rare

raising envy vis-a-vis your millionaire

look

should

brook

the fact you wear Versace

as you tai chi, yoga, Zumba and Pilates?

Does the game to gain acclaim inspire no shame?

And

should I

             care?

Unfortunately

I do.