The Free Market Without Food
The Capitalist’s plump paws
pinched his purse tightly
as he looked at me, forlorn.
I’m well-fed but hollow, he said,
But I can’t stop what I am.
And the greasy tears swept down
His shiny bloated face
And the insatiable desires gripped fiercely
As he shuddered violently
And shook the humble from their beds.
They trembled, confused,
As he spasmed evermore,
And stoically perceived his nature.
– A.D. –