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!