by Catherine McGuire
They were the Trinity of Wall Street: Bear, Merrill and Citi—
until the close of the year, the train wreck piling up bodies
leaving the pinstripes toothless, seeking salvation
from a slew of quack nostrums peddled by Paulson.
The world teeters on a precipice; from Portugal to Petersburg,
we feel the shuddering shock of empty portfolios,
hiding money in crocks and mason jars,
anywhere it might not vanish overnight.
As the summer marigolds spread the only gold
in sight, the idled bankers watch Wallace and Grommet,
avoid the finance channel like it was bird flu;
study infomercials selling new gizmos and garbanzo beans
while their world continues to fracture; retirement
just a figment of a blue-collared Ponzi scheme. And
sure as dandelions, crooks will exonerate
the other crooks, will find serenity in trading
sureties scribbled in Crayola, crank collaterals
that burst like armed Jack-in-the-Boxes, bruise
Joe Six-Pack til he retreats, like an armadillo
into his foreclosed home, posting with angular scrawl,
"Do Not Disturb...Further"
Catherine McGuire now peeks at the news through sheltering fingers. A third of her poetry is political; the rest is about Nature - before it's too late.
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