Pride

There's nothing prideworthy in my life.
Accomplishments? Those routine hurdles
All part and parcel of the race
Prescribed for the Western middle class:
A modest success to guarantee
A rumble-free retirement;
A trifling tithe to charities;
Artistic urges satisfied
Without the talent to back them up.
Social involvement? Minimal.
Which brings me to this point of "Pride,"
A catch-all for the common chaps,
An up-escalator for feminists,
A peg on which to drape our capes,
A rallying cry that no one heeds.
Pride in what? Our mere survival?
Historically, there's resonance,
But now we thrive in openness,
Consume as shamelessly as those
Who long have benefited from the spoils
Of unequal status. Pride, you say?
We're not there yet, the place where we
Will earn that badge;
And I for one am not equipped,
I'm not disposed to lead the pack.
Devoid of pride, I tarry on,
Content to watch the troops parade.