I hymn the
ham... I have a hunch
the answer to a lot is lunch
(which saves
the world and shores it up);
sometimes
the only way is sup.
Oh, when the
banks (in days of old)
were foursquare, strong, replete with gold,
the bankers
sat from noon till three
amid a tide
of napery,
discussed
the dollar, dealt the deal
and never made a mongrel's meal
of
sub-primes or the loans they lent -
benignly in
control, content.
But now they
work from six till nine
on tofu rolls, eschewing wine,
the house of
cards has tumbled down:
it's bread
and tears for Mr Brown.
My friend
and I have lunch (sans men);
what keeps us going is the ben-
ison of
tapas and prosecco -
laudamus!
cheers! the walls re-echo!
A hex on
cold Sobriety
(her self-denial, her greenish tea) -
lunch long
and raise your glass on high:
the symbol of success is Pi!