We know that you need to vent. Trust us, we know.
The placards and instruments are for you and all your friends
—We took the liberty of
Confiscating the scissors—. We’re sure that you understand. Listen to the band.
The glass is shatter-proof;
You can hurl as many rocks as you wish,
As long as if they are the ones made from foam, stamped with our logo,
As long as if you are what you are today:
Satisfied with your discontent,
Popular for being contrarian, a rebel in their Gucci Guevara;
A pilgrim on a treadmill, only having time for abridged treatises,
Who buys a new basket for each berry plucked from Babylon’s Gardens,
Who pulls down your facemask to make sure you—i.e. your face—are seen
And discards it in the dustbin at the afterparty for all the changemakers’ understudies
With a Nobel cause, needing a sweetener to save the world,
Yelling in the vacuum of cyberspace, “Listen to the scientists, but don’t forget my name.”
And if you, singular, irregular, see through the glass,
What can you do? Our focus groups have found
That not enough of you will drink the oil each day; it is too unpalatable
For those that want awareness without the unpleasantness.
We want you to know that we’ve grown; we don’t shake it as much as we used to.
We enjoy it from afar, but sometimes we can’t help ourselves.
You should learn to enjoy it too, even if it is in a more modest form, if it isn’t you,
Because sooner or later—sooner—in there, you’ll run out of air.
