On the day he received
His blubbery bonus,
He ate foie gras, and
Felt no onus
To pray for the sick
Or pity the poor,
With check in hand he
Walked through the door
(to hell) and said,
“Let them eat cake,” and
Felt his heart swell
With gratitude for civilization,
For the inequity
In a sovereign nation,
That blessed him and
Cursed his poor relation.
And well he should give thanks
There was no revolution,
To interrupt his evening ablution,
For there was a time when
He might have been taken,
And dragged through the streets
By an angry mass,
Spat on by urchins
From the underclass,
Beaten and bruised,
Then his head chopped off, and
Shoes and gloves fashioned
From the skin of his ass.
——–
“Ode to a Bank President, 2010″ copyright © 2010 by Rod Brock