The problem with writing an “ode to the futile,” as some poets have done, is that the moment the reader encounters such a poem, continuing to read it means accepting the role of someone interested in the author’s trivialities. Most, of course, accept it, and accept it enthusiastically, and such a poem may possess the genius of resembling, through its words, a television program. But here’s the thing: no one is interested in programs from the past decade, because everything futile possesses this attribute that condemns it to oblivion—it is, necessarily, transient.