A few years back someone did a parody of Poe’s poem, "The Raven," in the New York Times. It was called "The Maven" and was so good that out of respect I’ve held back from doing my own take-off of this poem. Now it’s time to move on. And with that in mind, I offer "The Shaven," a timely tale of market angst.
The Shaven
Once I thought I had things ordered, had my future nicely hoarded
With the cap gains from a market that had soared as ne’er before;
‘Twas perhaps this in-head mapping, that caused me to be caught napping,
While the fates my wealth was sapping, sapping I can’t now ignore.
"It’s too much," I whined and muttered, "I don’t want to end up poor."
Told my broker: "Please, no more."
Ah, recalling that old feeling, heady days of wheeler-dealing,
Buying stock was just like stealing, without the need to break a law;
CEOs were then my heroes, gutsy wealth-producing Neros,
Padding my accounts with zeros, zeros I deserved, they swore.
Who could guess this great accrual, wouldn’t have endless renewal,
Leave me begging: "Please, no more."
In my mind I’ve gone researching, combed my thoughts for truth a’searching,
For the cause of market lurching, that no analysts foresaw;
Were we all just seeing double, shrugging off all signs of trouble,
Helping to inflate the bubble, hoping thus its growth ensure?
There’s a price for foolish dreaming,
I have paid it: "Please, no more."
After all this asset shaving, having done my share of raving,
Nothing’s left but workplace slaving, gad, it’s such an awful bore;
On toward old age I go slinking, with a pension that is shrinking,
Facing now, with fortunes sinking, prospects for a mean detour..
I do fear it: "Please, no more."
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©2009 Michael Silverstein |
