The bulls’ stampede

On the ground,
bulked-up speculative herds run roughshod
on parched markets that once were grassroots sod,
beating derivative dust  high up into a cloud.
To puff up prices makes them proud.
They’re cattle driven like longhorn chevy pickups,
with beefy credit default swap hookups.
Them big bulls in a China shop–
they hop
on new deals.
Uncle Sam’s New Deal’s
got them lasso’d by the balls;
Uncle Ben’s Neo Freeo
makes ’em forget the margin calls.
But little critters get trampled  in the throng,
of high frequency traders no longer going long.

Overhead
the eagles of their ancestral dreams
circle lazily above those tradin’ teams
in search of scampering mortgaged prey
to seize what they might eat today.
Carry on, carrion they say,
as vultures at the fringes linger
with the pressing of an index finger
to sell short
the nation with a broken heart.

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