Poetry: Messages from the Global Financial Meltdown
Messages from the Global Financial Meltdown* (Part I)
I. Florida: Foreclosure
My kids are difficult this time of day, right after their naps,
an hour before dinner. Hungry, always hungry
Yes, I got your final notice. When the rate tripped up and
floated, we thought we’d handle it, but work has been unforthcoming (I think I
borrowed that word from your other
letter). We’ll evict ourselves as soon as you evict us. For our neighbors, it
took 8.75 months. Or did the span float upward? These days, my kids make memory
mush. I’ll send that.
We’ll wait. I’d like you to meet my son someday. He’s wearing a
red cowboy hat our neighbors left in the lawn that night, and he’s beautiful.
II. California—Behind Closed Doors: the City Commissioner
Parts of this state are mainly sand, dust. So arid and completely dead, a land that offers nothing, not even rot.
But then. Back then! That was when the banks turned
rivers to make the land burst green with suburbs. The Latinos came, the
Mexicans. Came and came. They were thirsty, and we had so much to offer. But now
we’re desert once again. And they have remained. That’s their error. They are
good at fitting many in one room. Their blessing. If only we could build them
trains. An underground to rail them home.
That might be the best blessing, if
only God agreed.
III. Luck: Las Vegas
Yes,
the ad line,“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” should add especially
your money.
Which became ours, oh God, in so many ways. For Christ’s
sake! Man, we’d been raking it in! And then
we weren’t. The land ready, out of the sand the mansions straining taller than cacti
in the 110 degree heat, no more.
Who knew those quills would stab so deadly fast? Me. You. To the point:
we have to take the property back. I know, including the business loan, you
can’t pay your own mortgages, but the government is stirring capital at the
capitol, and that can make the sting stop bleeding. At least a quarter. Or two?
Let’s have a drink next week. On me. Under the faux Eiffel Tower. We’ll have
a laugh or two. Rumor is they’ve added an elevator, so we’ll check the view
from on high, review those miles and miles grown from empty sand to empty homes.
Enough to make us thirsty, greedy, or both.
I. Florida: Foreclosure
My kids are difficult this time of day, right after their naps,
an hour before dinner. Hungry, always hungry
Yes, I got your final notice. When the rate tripped up and
floated, we thought we’d handle it, but work has been unforthcoming (I think I
borrowed that word from your other
letter). We’ll evict ourselves as soon as you evict us. For our neighbors, it
took 8.75 months. Or did the span float upward? These days, my kids make memory
mush. I’ll send that.
We’ll wait. I’d like you to meet my son someday. He’s wearing a
red cowboy hat our neighbors left in the lawn that night, and he’s beautiful.
II. California—Behind Closed Doors: the City Commissioner
Parts of this state are mainly sand, dust. So arid and completely dead, a land that offers nothing, not even rot.
But then. Back then! That was when the banks turned
rivers to make the land burst green with suburbs. The Latinos came, the
Mexicans. Came and came. They were thirsty, and we had so much to offer. But now
we’re desert once again. And they have remained. That’s their error. They are
good at fitting many in one room. Their blessing. If only we could build them
trains. An underground to rail them home.
That might be the best blessing, if
only God agreed.
III. Luck: Las Vegas
Yes,
the ad line,“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” should add especially
your money.
Which became ours, oh God, in so many ways. For Christ’s
sake! Man, we’d been raking it in! And then
we weren’t. The land ready, out of the sand the mansions straining taller than cacti
in the 110 degree heat, no more.
Who knew those quills would stab so deadly fast? Me. You. To the point:
we have to take the property back. I know, including the business loan, you
can’t pay your own mortgages, but the government is stirring capital at the
capitol, and that can make the sting stop bleeding. At least a quarter. Or two?
Let’s have a drink next week. On me. Under the faux Eiffel Tower. We’ll have
a laugh or two. Rumor is they’ve added an elevator, so we’ll check the view
from on high, review those miles and miles grown from empty sand to empty homes.
Enough to make us thirsty, greedy, or both.