An American poem

Punchbowl herds on de game Preserve

sippin up liquidity from de FedReserve,

dey spec and dey sling

dem dummy dollars, an’ sing:

Oh give me a home where the FedFunds do roam

and de sheep and de bulls graze on Loan,

where seldom is heard a deflative word

and Govment reports steer de herd.

 

Now down in de City

workfolk stay gritty:

burgerflippers on strike

suburbers take hike

while Fed pumps liquidity

jackin up mediocrity

de system reward passivity

instead of generatin’ activity.

 

While corpos say downsize

lefties get organize

obsesies say supersize

an’ children go unsupervise;

Den Anonymous  grab de tail

of dat lowlivin’ beasty grail,

scarin’ up rabble hell

against highrollin’ game Preserve shell.

 

Somewhere out here in mudville today

de prophets dey cry while de profits may play;

but dere’s no more renewal to tout,

cuz mighty America has struck out.

On de udder hand maybe not:

Have I understated our potential a lot?

 

O give me a land where innovators roam,

and de Feds on de Preserve get sent home,

where thee brave make a move and thee bold take a chance

at renewing our anthem, and reviving our dance.

 

Glass half-Full

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