We're the last of the middle class
North Americans, in hock
Up to our eyeballs, seeking
Yet another mortgage, yet
Another loan, so that the people
Squatting leech-like on the veins
Of depleted capital love us,
Count us among the reliable
Worth lending more disaster
To. From here they don't appear
So awesomely terrifying.
Bank clerks. Ha! What banker
Ever wrote a proper poem? Oh,
Right, the man in the four-piece suit.
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