A POEM FOR THE VERY GREAT BANKERS
They would .do. Capitalism.
They proposal in and out.
They launch their hankies into air.
They would web Historic wobbly firms.
They would glut them and lucre the Wall.
They would impose a Waiting.
They would avoid the lasting Destruction blame, the going guys’ panic
as derivatives fail their Historic “Socialism” gimmicks and pumping help.
Will less hoping and less bloodied Disaster Junk shut the Wall?
Shall we supper Bernanke the thrown heads of Gods? As he hunkers
in spread sheets, unzipped for relief?
O, this is the crucial Decision Sachs.
This is the Church of the Air.
For Accounting is Many and Burnished and Gilt.
One longs for a lyric of simple extortion.
One longs for the Made Thing scarcely of Numbers.
One longs for a Pirate, the Queen’s Honest Thief.