To the Age

by David M. Katz

There are so many things you do not like
But cannot change yourself. You are a mule
That will not leave its stall. Your bones ache.
You’re when and what you are. You are no fool,
But neither are you smart. You make demands,
You dictate how we talk about ourselves,
Supply material for our labels, brands,
And dirty jokes, the canned goods on our shelves.
We’ve taken you for jazz and innocence,
Things that change, although you stay the same
For all the time you’re here. You make no sense
Except to stand for our collective shame.
We each pass through you like the stagnant air,
A darkened cloud, this toxic atmosphere.