Sometimes we piss into the wind and fart against thunder,
become the budgie on the ladder, the rat on the treadmill,
steering ourselves and our kin through the rapids,
avoiding the craters and potholes on life’s highways,
diverting left and right, dodging slips, trips and falls,
despising the bulls and bears and the boom-bust-boom-bust bankers,
carrying the depression of the recession, our shoulders forced to slink,
falling exhausted into the armchair, feeling like the weakest link,
preferring to stash any cash in a bucket under the sink.
Then flickering on the screen in the big box in the lounge,
not Zippy, Bungle but George looking shifty, on the scrounge,
he tells us times are harder and the best of friends are few,
reminding us the whole world order is “out of order” too,
and we try not to think of any Chancellor as a curse
until we check for our share and find there’s nothing in our purse.
Compared to how Dick Turpin went about his chosen task,
maybe George works in a different way…. but wearing the same mask.”
No comments:
Post a Comment