Ezra was wrong because
we won the war.
Surely, as all should live,
he sees me in his defeat, bending
to the whims of any patron,
talking under breath
of the services, spending most
of my time to allow them, unappreciative,
to believe, anyone could do what
I do, but I’m the only one here, so
these folk’s unseen intentions, or
their apprehensions, or their integrity,
is left to me, and despite my full efforts,
it seems some of the public will never
be satisfied. But who am I?
I, the recipient, though hardly
the receiver of reason, of such complaints,
the face to smile and agree, taking, unjustly,
responsibility. Who am I to those who
cannot see their world is truly unrealistic?
I am responsibility. Goddammit.
Or should I say, goddamn the way of greed.