You can almost hear the snickering

Behind their quizzical stares,

And feel their question behind

The long, awkward silence that asks

What is art

Compared to wealth?

You might wonder 

If they care about the past,

Shrugging before yet another cemetery,

Another memorial, 

Questioning the origin story of your people,

Questioning the value of history,

Questioning if memory really even exists.

As you feel their question,

Behind perfectly manicured lawns

And freshly cut grass,

Behind happy, well-educated couples 

Walking confidently by

In sports visors and polo shirts,

Behind salad bars, pasta bars

And dessert bars,

Behind rows and rows

Of custom golf carts,

Behind rows and rows

Of luxury cars,

Behind secret rules and more secret expectations 

Asking in a whisper;

What exactly is wrong

With country club living?

You also worry they might be right:

That beauty is a dead end,

That talk of God is embarrassing,

That all art making is a hobby,

That any venture that doesn’t make money 

Is a boondoggle.

You might wonder 

If they care about the present,

More than the feeling of swallowing 

Salty lobster and hot butter,

More than watching the sunrise

Ignite glassy waters aflame

From their private docks,

More than experiencing 

The curvature of the Earth

Above a blanket of clouds

From soft Italian leather seats

In their Gulfstream G650.

As you feel their question

Behind power games of success theater,

A flurry of social media texts,

Can't do lunch, too busy,

Having lunch with the President,

Both talking from both sides of their mouths

When they ask

What is truth

Compared to appearance? 

You also worry they might be right:

We are not all in this together,

There is no family, no community,

No society,

There is only selves

Like atoms jostling in a jar,

We are nothing but genes replicating genes,

We are only our behavior

And our behavior is programmable.

You might wonder 

If they care about the future,

More than attending a gala

To save a rainforest somewhere,

More than next quarter’s financial statements,

More than booking a first-class seat for a trip in six months.

As you feel their question

Behind a utopia of entrepreneurs,

A culture of takers and hustlers,

Of predators and murderers

Taking what they want, when they want,

In an orgy of desire that asks

What is justice

Compared to power?

You also worry they might be right:

There is only power.

The past is a figment of your imagination,

A story masquerading as identity.

The present is only what the economy

Tells you to pay attention to,

The future is a dream flowing

Not forward but backward,

Not inward but outward,

Not earthward but starward,

Until you feel their question

Behind their beautiful face asking 

How different do you think you are?