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The Night Before Christmas (December 2008)
‘Twas the night before Christmas, in My Foreclosed House,
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The bills were all hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes for assistance or even a prayer.
The children were nestled on the floor without beds,
While visions of soup kitchens danced in their heads.
And momma in her long johns, and I a bad mood,
Had just sold our furniture for medicine and food.
When out in the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the floor to see what was the matter.
Is it repo, or eviction, should I run or hide?
I went to the window, and then peaked outside.
The moon on the breast of some new-fallen cash,
Gave the luster of riches to a fluttering stash.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a government hand-out, for banks, oh dear!
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Indeed, Barb's brother Justin ran the island's only dairy farm, a major installation with over a hundred workers and five hundred cows that turned out milk, butter, yogurt, and twenty-two varieties of cheese.
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A mile offshore were two dozen Japanese ships, half merchantmen converted to troop transports, half destroyers. And one like _this!_ She was dressed in the style of the upper classes of the 482nd, which meant transparent sheathing and not very much else above the waist, and flimsy, knee-length trousers below.
ket luan 66 ban bi thuIt was the Treasury cashier from a Wall Street Bank,
I knew, in a moment, it was Paulson - St. Hank!
Lured by free cash and bonuses, the banks, they all came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now, Citibank! Now, Mellon! Now, JPMorgan-Chase and Bank America!
On, Goldman Sachs! On, Morgan Stanley! On, Capital One and Comerica!
To the top of the greed! To the top of them all!
Now cash away! Cash away! Cash away all!”
As great profits that before the wild investments fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they leverage to the sky.
So up to the Treasury the bankers they flew,
With a limo of bad debt, and their own St. Hank, too.
And then, Oh! The tinkling, of money, far above,
Is it trickle down, from Bush Cheney, with love?
As my hopes were surging, and I was turning around,
Down the chimney his Hanky-ness came with a bound.
He was dressed in pinstripe, from his head to his foot,
And his image all tarnished with loose cash and soot.
A bundle of junk debt he had on his back,
And he looked like a con-man, just opening his sack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He took the last of my cash, oh what a jerk!
And leaving his debt, piled up to my nose,
And giving a sneer, up the chimney he rose
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ket qua anh-thuy dienHe sprang to his limo, to the banks gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a cash-guided missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and hold all your cash tight!”