Greed

In a deep, black, corner, lies a deep, black, secret,
A opaque pool of dark ink, wallowing in the shadows,
Thick as oil, and as sticky as tar, it clings there,
Drawing men towards it, with an irresistible pull,

They check their gold watches, and exchange business cards,
Smooth out their ties, before signing over contracts,
Smile and shake hands, to let their wallets grow
fatter and thicker by the minute,

With each signature and stock signed over,
Each man takes a step closer to the corner,
The corner of blackness in their hearts,
The corner, glittering with false gold,

Well groomed hair and bigger cars,
They waltz into work and flirt with the secretaries,
Before sitting down in a meeting on how
to swindle the taxpayers again,

Shake hands again, to part with a smile,
"I'l have the contract ready for tomorrow sir"
Commonly echoed round this room,
And the glitter gets brighter, and brighter,

Tucking pens away into breast pockets,
They file out to get a "well deserved lunch"
down at the local wine-bar, with their new "friends",
The distrust is easy to see, but the glitter drives them on,

Black American Express cards fill the bill tray,
As they squabble for the right to pay,
Whilst we claw and struggle our way,
For a simple meal of bread everyday,

Author's Note

A poem that society inspired.