A Friend's Poem on the Economy (Ha. Ha?)

No I didn't write this but I wish I did. A self-described octogenarian, friend of mine who lives in Columbia did. An ex-DJ, ex-radio broadcast news reporter, wrote it. John Wrisley, a fracking genius though he doesn't know it; funny, friendly, concise, and a voluminous writer and blogger.
It just doesn't get any better than this!

We'll Find Our Way Back

The great middle class has been knocked on its ass
And doesn't know what to do.
The bubbles have burst, and, expecting the worst,
They are bidding their fortunes adieu.

There's no room for mirth when we see our net worth
Drop eighteen percent or more.
We're poorer today than we were yesterday,
And the pain is too harsh to ignore.

401(k)s in a swoon, pension plans out of tune,
Add up to a great tale of woe.
Whom shall we blame? Who'll bear the shame?
Who is it made off with our dough?

When stock prices dropped, and real estate flopped,
Where did all the wealth go?
Did some son-of-a-bitch get filthy rich
While we became burdened with woe?

There's been hanky panky by young Doctor Bernanke,
And tricks by Tim Geithner to boot.
Look behind scenes to see what it means.
Lets trace the distress to its root.

In days of old, true money was gold -
Four-hundred-eighty grains to the ounce.
A unit of measure that one could treasure,
And keep honest tabs on accounts.

A means of exchange, gold helped to arrange
The commercial affairs of mankind.
It brightened the world as its value unfurled;
As trade 'round the globe intertwined.

But it was tough, there was never enough
Of the bright shiny metal called "gold."
"It's holding us back. Please cut us some slack,"
Said the bankers from inside their stronghold.

"Let us use paper and we'll cut you a caper
That will turn this old world on its ear!"
Mistaking paper for wealth, the entire commonwealth
Was convinced it had nothing to fear.

The game worked many years, and amid the loud cheers
We were taught to get "rich" on the cuff.
We loaded up debt and we're paying it yet -
Now the future looks exceedingly tough.

It doesn't seem fair to be forced to foreswear
Those freewheeling days of the boom.
But an irritation brought on by inflation
Leaves us little but gloom.

The boys in D.C. behave outrageously
As they pretend to know what to do.
What really rancors is their gifts to the bankers.
The last one they'll help will be YOU.

And they're not really helping, despite all the yelping!
They're just piling up trillions in debt.
We hear all the blab, but who'll pay that great tab?
It'll be all our kids, you can bet.

As depression bites deep, we may wake from our sleep
And learn from the lessons of old.
We'll find lunches aren't free, and - doubtlessly,
We'll find our way back to gold.

~John Wrisley, March 28th, 2009