SO MY FRIENDS
So my friends in the 'Market'
like to buy on the dips, seek
the 'dead cat bounce.' And
they're all treacherous gamblers
and nothing more than that.
Coca-Cola in their veins and,
once the market closes, Jack
Daniels if the day was good,
or Pabst Blue Ribbon on a
losing day. And many more
than one, at that.
-
Who cares if they dribble back
into their sauce? Too afraid to
go home and face the music?
The little girl, a Shari, they just
pinched in the butt, isn't taking
to anyone at all. Insider-trading
is one thing, but this was just a
pinch in the butt and - if lucky -
a toss in the ladies-room stall.
-
I envy the powers of money.
Like a Cindy in her effervescent
bloom, or a Mary, in her secret
room, panties down around their
ankles again. The scent of roses
in the air, the market still powers
many a man: fancy-flirt, or
banker-twerp. They don't say
the markets up, or the markets
down, for nothing.
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