Poem from The Board
A Memo from the Board
by Larry Duncan
Every town is out of dough,
From NYC to Kokomo.
Your contract�s void, the larder�s bare,
There ain�t a dollar left to spare.
We�d print some more, of course, but gee!
It�s only paper so, you see,
The only fair thing left to do
Is drop this great big turd on you.
Ten million jobs we�ll have to scrub.
(We voted on it at the Club.)
We know you�ll try to understand
Our need to keep the upper hand.
Millions out of work must starve
Since �those who have the cake shall carve�.
(It�s such a nifty little rule;
We teach it to your kids in school.)
So buckle up and knuckle down:
We�ve passed so many checks around
We�re overdrawn and out of cash
And caution all: do nothing rash.
Though workers in those foreign lands
Have gone on strike and made demands
And learned to move like one, en masse,
And overthrow their ruling class,
We�ve thought about it through and through
And we don�t think that�s right for you.
So lend an ear and taken down notes,
As once again we ask for votes:
Republicans and Democrats
And company-union bureaucrats
Don�t think you should discuss your rights
With militants or Trotskyites
Who only want to tip our boat.
Disgruntled bums! It gets our goat!
So put your shoulders to the wheel
As we cook up some Brand New Deal.
God bless you all. Praise the Lord,
And punch in promptly. Signed, The Board.
