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.

Antán Ó Dála an Rí

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