The nation’s recipe cooks best in subterranean oil

Terrorist traders (on and off-shore) provide the foil

While easy money sinks deeper into deep pockets

Hapless corporations careen out of their sockets


Beyond thickly-veiled scams, scandals brew

Lucky reputations soar, unlucky ones stew

Quick! Get the guards to beat around the bush

So craft and greed may slide underfoot


Now, you’d have thought you were real brainy

But, who’d you think will yank whose chainey?

Tell you won’t be any Tom, Dick, or Harry

Sure won’t be a name worth collin’ Mary


Your prescription for anxiety, President? you ask

Is Healthcare that needs healing up to the task?

When thousands have lost their honest wages

And pensioners weep over life’s last stages


Infinite justice takes on a partisan stance

While “honest brokers” dine and dance

On deficits, dogma, and bailout-dripping drool

Everybody ends up being somebody else’s fool


Confusion soaked in oil reigns with military might

The deprived are easy to beat, even easier to slight

Power corrupts through the barrel of a blazing gun

To some it’s living horror, to others voyeuristic fun


Extremists on the West bank prefer Uncle Ben’s

For, Pondalisa’s rice is like cock-pecked hen’s

Warlords are not world-deep, but world-wide too

Cooked in oil, take em in your stride, G’ bless you


When the country takes its toll of troubled workers

What’s left is shocking, with shakers and shirkers

Let’s bust rabid moles in their mountain holes instead

When terrorists reign, what sense is trivial bread?


Artful dodgers slither in and out, a dime a dozen

Capital gangs (of four or more) get yet more brazen

Between you and me, Jane, and six-pack Joe

Oh, for the sins of our fathers, there will be more


But, wait! Where have all the flowers gone?

Shipped to Timbuktu or transatlantic Bourne

Whats come of good old-fashioned chivalry, you say

When money always keeps getting in the way


Don’t cry over spilt milk, you sentimental slobs

The cream’s been skimmed, corn’s off the cobs

Now’s the time for good young men to join the parish

If for nothing else…but for the good of evil to flourish!


Shyam Bhatya


This poem came up for air from under my dusty archives, hibernating as it were for more than a decade. Sections of it might still have relevance today. All we see now is small change. Hope the big one is coming! You be the judge. Comment or critique, if you wish.

Other poems you might want to read on this site are Bravo, cruel sport!, Damsel in distress, Morning shows the day…, and Time rolls by.

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