THE CRAVEN, A Halloween Trick-or-Treat, With Apologies to Edgar Allen Poe
Okay, so Halloween was yesterday, but I was really busy yesterday, as those with children often are. I think the day after Halloween should be Adult Halloween, the day on which we eat the children’s candy. And, so I now present to you, this political trick-or-treat meant for grown-ups on O’Hallows Eve. With my most sincere apologies to Mr. Poe.
Reflecting on a year not cheery, what I pondered made me teary
The vast array of broken lives that foreclosures underscore.
Worried my mind would soon be snapping, as in my head I was recapping,
All of those that deserved slapping, that just could not be ignored.
Surely someone would be trapping, justice tapping at my door.
Twas SEC, and nothing more.
Ah, quite clearly, I recalled, that as I’d learned, I’d grown appalled,
Of all the lives that had been mauled, by acts of banks I now deplore.
While the SEC just kept on sleeping, words for this required bleeping,
In the end the whole world weeping, as I myself had heretofore,
For the countless fair homeowners whose lives they never would restore,
Nameless here forevermore.
And the fraudulent assignments, pushed by MERS out of alignments
Flagrant fraud willed right round the courts like no one saw before.
Not a man would stand convicted, homeowners would be evicted
I could have sworn they’d come one night, knocking at a mansion’s door
What of Angelo Mozillo, a king of things that live offshore
He wrote a check and nothing more.
Geithner spoke of being stronger, but Justice takes “longtime” and “longer”
Our bankers free post fraud galore, while we change to lessee from lessor.
I wasn’t sure why Tim was yapping, I asked, “Was HAMP designed for trapping?”
Cause at this point no one’s clapping, and your countenance quite unsure
What of crimes the bank committed, did he not fear the crowd’s loud roar?
I tried, but established no rapport.
Into the Fed I began peering, as I stood there wondering, fearing
Seeing things called Maiden Lane, first saw one and then one more
But the silence was unbroken, opacity to be maintained
O’er his kingdom, Bernanke reigned, and no one was to know the score
Barack? I called for the man I once believed was our savior
But just the clock, and no encore.
It was the fall for leaves were turning, how could they have escaped learning
Strategies they must be mapping, working harder than before
Would they speak of the foreclosures, in the states that always swung?
I watched them, read them so I might this mystery explore
I listened to each word they spoke, pray my sanity to restore
It was the wind and nothing more.
Was there someone charged at Goldman, hoping before I was an old man
But no the Craven too afraid, afraid of bankers all, therefor
Not a single one Wall Streeter, would be thought of as a cheater
Summers said no crimes occurred, and he was Tim’s mentor
For he had come direct from Rubin, whose home was at the shore
The Craven sat and nothing more.
These gutless wonders not beguiling, thinking of them ended smiling
While their faces still somehow looked, just as always, so cocksure
As Harvard men, they were clean-shaven, some from Yale, down in New Haven
But we all saw them as the Craven, as they walked on White House floors
Would we ever see a banker, locked behind a guarded door?
Quoth the Craven, nevermore.
So, Dimon, Mack and Vikram Pandit, Stumpf and Blankfein all bank bandits
What they did destroyed our nation, although that no relevancy bore
For we cannot avoid our seeing, that they are not in need of fleeing
They were blessed with men in power, who their acts would now ignore
For in this country crimes were only punished if you’re poor,
And if rich then “Nevermore.”
For the Craven cared only to win, their messages were mostly spin
No soul, no conscience, no sense of right or wrong did pour
Nothing further would they utter, disregard those in the gutter
Till we scarcely even muttered, any words that spoke rancor
We had no choice it seemed, though their welcome they’d outwore
Others worse, so nevermore.
Startled by promises broken, although admittedly well-spoken
Nothing would they do, that Wall Street bankers not adore
Now we’d have disdain for masters, whose acts were untold disasters
Sinking fast and then much faster, singing songs of burden bore
The dirges of his hope and change, melancholy out of range, swore
Once again, but nevermore.