Spare change?

Flip a nickel; turn a dime.

Let’s spend our money one more time.

And when it passes twice again around,

we hear its jingle-jangle sound.

We go to town.

 

Spend a dollar; pass a buck.

Buy another pickup truck.

Pump some gas and drive a mile,

shine it up and drive in style

for a while.

 

Scan my plastic; pass my card;

software data, currency hard.

At end of month the bill comes due.

I’ll pay a lot and then a few.

What’s it to you?

 

Build a country; churn the economy.

Fuel the industry; grow some agronomy.

Dems want gov to do it all;

Repubs want private sector out of the stall.

That’s all.

Not quite.

 

Tea Parties cry don’t tread on me

while Occupyers want everything made free.

Get outa my way vs. soak it to the one percent:

two polarizing passions that won’t relent.

But uh oh; it’s time to pay the rent.

 

It happens every month; it comes around every year,

with principal and interest so steep, so dear.

At midnight our stimulus turns into a pumpkin.

But I’m no bumpkin: I’ll spend a dollar; I’ll turn a buck;

‘though our limo has morphed to a clunky pumpkin truck.

We’ve stayed too long at the ball.

That’s all.

Glass Chimera

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