You'd think I'd be daunted
By now
By the things that
Gather behind stage-right curtain,
Waiting, with impeccable comedic timing,
To pounce and make
The audience laugh
And the protagonist cringe
But one must carry on
With the show;
Especially when there is no show.
The show comes to be
When people watch
Sans empathy
And conjecture
And think they know what is going on
Within the object of their
Voyeuristic gaze,
Which is great and all
But if you think about it
(Think? I don't have time for that...)
The show is, as since
The days of the Colosseum,
A purely sadistic thing.
And so unwitting, some who are just being
Become the subject of some
Grand entertainment scheme.
Change as you must, yes. Life
Requires it.
But when it comes down to it,
I am a certain thing
Who does not bend beneath the sweet refrain
Of guilt and duty and parlay
When it requires
Untruth, vengeance, revenge, fear, a fleeting or enduring grudge,
Or worse:
The fickle, responsive flavor of the day.
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