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MELT-DOWN LIMERICK, by Jim Freeman

The Limerick is poetry’s worst

Never written by those who are versed

In the headier climes

Of purposeful rhymes

But this is a moment that’s cursed

So I write of a system in chaos

Compounded by those who betray us

With promises bold

That quickly turned cold

As suddenly off they would lay us

The tag-team of Henry and Ben

Ignoring the why, where and when

Supported the bankers

Those fraudulent wankers

Making dough by a factor of ten

These guys in the pin-stripey suits

Standing drinks at the bar in cahoots

All covered each other

While running for cover

And bailing with gold parachutes

So Paulson came in with the facts

And a plan to bail out Goldman Sachs

Details were obscure

The Congress unsure

So he fed them a bevy of snacks

If you look to be healed of your pain

And be rid of this terrible stain

Then let me assure

Those who made you poor

Will do it again and again

So what the hell can we do

To stay out of this simmering stew

I’m afraid it’s too late

The rich have all ate

And left dirty dishes for you

Wall Street was rolling in dough

With too few good places to go

With derivatives dicey

And way over-pricey

Investors lined up at the do

It mattered not what they were fed

Or how by the nose they were led

Liar-loans soared

And the money it poured

To the monsters under the bed

A slim retribution remains

On this tablecloth covered with stains

Paulson’s friends who all wail

Should be sent off to jail

And we’ll count that as capital gains