The Man

I went to take the SAT on Saturday
and wondered why I was there.
It was because He wanted me to go.
Who is he?

Is He my dad,
who I am sure
hates the SAT
as much as I do?

Yes and No.
He is the man standing outside,
who hates Bush, and Kerry, and America,
and you.

He is the man sitting inside
watching T.V. and deciding
whether a book is more fun than
the last episode of Friends.
It's not.

He is the newsman,
who sells you a poor man's story
for an exorbitant price
and then leaves town for Cancun.

He is the man who
laughs at small bigots,
and then stands up straight
with the tall ones.

He tells you what to wear,
when to wear it,
how to wear it,
and why you want to wear it in the first place.

He has been around for a long time.
He has been ripped, torn,
flipped upside down, and inside out,
but he is still alive, and better than ever.

If He tells you to jump,
you darn well better do it,
or someone else will.
And then you will be behind.

He is the one sitting on your shoulder,
telling you to eat that burger
and get fat,
then he laughs at you and calls you stupid for doing it.

He has no shame.
Why should He?
No one disagrees.
Or at least no one who is still around.

He is the Man,
He is Society,
He is Satan