Poem, final attempt at reworking it

People must be bees.
Given a role, they follow it without thinking.
Ask them to think and they get angry,
sometimes violent.
Their refusal to think fills me with rage.
Faced with poverty,
having their jobs exported,
and yet,
they support the one that did this to them;
like a battered wife who takes back the man that beat her,
wanting to believe that the impossible has happened,
that he has changed.
It always turns out the same.
Change is not part of the vocabulary.
Change is not in the plan.
This time change isn’t even in the campaign.
I can write about how stupid these people are,
I can say what they should have done,
but that would be pointless.
I must not hate what I do not understand.
I wish I could talk to them,
to try and understand their viewpoint.
If I could reach them, I have no idea if they would listen to me.
I just have to hope that they will realize what they have done,
before its too late.