We lost. Why should I give a thin rat’s ass?
The parties of “no,” smoke, and anarchy
(“Free! Free! Lord god almighty, free at last!”)
Put markets first, strut under greed’s marquee.
Furtive wealth spun, burrowed, wormed to power.
Not our problem. We’re old—our slim future
Firm. Plain work, prudence, insure our dower,
Unsullied by behemoth greed’s gross spoor.
And yet, though unaffected, we must mourn.
“Climate concerns be damned, they limit growth—
Regulation? A page of lib’ral porn—
Environment? A mythic dream we loath!”
They’ll stain our oceans’ blue to murk, sow death;
Their poisoned air will choke their children’s breath.
Astride that Fifth Horse (ageless, handsome roan),
Fierce Wealth devours while spirits softly moan.
(11/11/10)