The Plight of the Middle-Aged White American Middle Class

Oh, we have been 

folded in and folded in,

our ignorance inculcated

through twists and turns

and suffering, and the one

apparent truth, that we are

not yet happy

We have done all the right things

and still it eludes us. We

have our good days

where we’re turned in such a way

that we don’t see the black wall looming;

We have our seminars and chants

to protect us from what we see

out of the corners of our eyes

We can’t be called complicit

if we haven’t seen the system,

can’t be called complicit

when we’re impoverished.

Yet when we see the role

we have been made to play,

It’s time for us

to find a way to stop.

Yes, we’ve all been victims,

no less we, who’ve ridden on the backs of slaves,

whip in hand, all our lives,

We who wondered where the ache was coming from —

a pain we couldn’t locate for its distance,

We who now watch our kids walk aimless,

having come to the end of the road we

(innocently) sent them down

So now, if we have any power at all,

the one thing we can do with it is turn —

turn away from our sugar-drugged,

glamour-brainwashed,

fear inflicted stupor

and find a way to live.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 17, 2015