When Art Failed to Change the World

Records continued to spin,

the canvas industry remained powerful as ever, 

and writers briefly looked up from their page,

grateful for a temporary reprieve

to excuse them from writing.

Once the tissues had dried their camera-crew tears,

politicians stood laughing at the top of the steps

and heads of industry quietly fist pumped beneath their desks

while their rigid torsos remained in the video call frames.

A child moved forward in mastering her craft,

certain that her experimental oboe piece would make a difference

and a rock drummer shrugged before counting off the beat

to the next record-deal windfall of illicit substances.

Across the world air sirens sounded, emphatically

claiming they are the true musicians of this world,

bread-and-butter instrumentalists just trying to make ends meet—

gluing together this calendar of destruction we cling to

with its pleasant but far-between holidays

for arrogance and misguided hope.