Toward a Better Better Best Practice

for Jamie Dimon and JP Morgan Risk Managers

we gathered in a lighted tower

of a lower Manhattan promontory

seminarians listen

to discursive ramblings

of bank industry experts

on the finer points of

Basel II

Tier Three

op risk

towards a better better

best practice

we pique our ears to hear

the critical

dispassionate annunciations

of expert expertise

a panel of practitioners

a panoply of knowledge

networking opportunities

and hands on insight

we are granted

institutional affirmation

nesting warmly

in a corporate cocoon

13 flights up

off West Street

10 bucks a seat

30 for non-members

we settle

in soulless white rooms

divided by long

horizontal wall panels

bleached of all humanity

visualizing phantasmagorical vistas

of changing regulatory landscapes

in strait backed chairs

resembling the blanco armor acrylics

of Imperial Stormtroopers

"on watch for Black Swans"

the panel's moderator incants

"if one appears

we told you so

if one fails to materialize

risk managers

have earned their dear keep"

seminarians chuckle

the dais backdrop

a massive SONY plasma screen

stares down seminarians

with ruminative bleakness.

no digital blips or power points

will convey any meaning

turn a clever phrase

sprout a statistic

paint a pretty picture,

just the plain spoken word

of highly credentialed

speakers with bios

many paragraphs long

confers license to speak

the screens blackness

a perfect counter point

to a rooms spare whiteness

and pedestrian furbishment

save a day glow Warhol Print

of the heroic MTV moon walker

and a predominant majority

of Far Eastern attendees

questions from the floor

drizzle the panel

tied tongues

use tight selective language

of lexiconic colloquialisms

speaking a queer vernacular

of erudite bombastic bunk

questions are mumbled

with increasingly greater acuity

dancing around bank meltdowns

and global economic catastrophes

with a self anointed smug absolution

and poignant failure to acknowledge

a failures paternity

pink elephants and 800 pound gorillas

remain dance hall wallflowers

"to be sure language evolves"

the moderator instructs

"as regulatory guidelines converge

to address market flux.

Is everyone comfortable with

the current acronyms

we devised

to describe our

present situation

best laid plans

and timely initiatives

to safeguard capital adequacy

and institutional solvency

right here in our own

little tower of Babel?"

My tie is too tight

to clear my throat

I can't ask my question

of apples to apples

dust to dust

and oranges to tangerines

while the halting speech of others

is broken up

by timely ring tones

from Jeopardy

and Gene Autry's

Don't Fence Me In

every once in awhile

a chuckle is raised

we laugh about the score

in this inside baseball game

of capital requirements

regulatory Nexis

and smart a*s traders

plying bold arbitrage strategies

blowing us back to Basel I

after the global bank implosion

oh the hilarity

of credit crises and crashes

the jokes on us

the joke-sters R US

some begin to

urgently finger blackberries

sending confident commands

to be dutifully carried out

by young back office minions

impatiently waiting

hanging on every word

of unintelligible texts

eagerly biding time

to take

the solid senders warm seat

in these cold blanched rooms

Closing the seminar

the moderator's summation

offered the thought

that her fondest hope remains

"scenario analysis,

stress testing

and the new

emerging paradigms

will become

embedded in

risk management

best practices

and that fewer regulators

will be needed to regulate

and we will continue

to be employed"

(nervous chuckles)

clapping

reception for networking

to follow

questions

and

cocktails

in the next room

I move quickly

to fill my plate with brie

English tea crackers

and a smoky tangy cheese.

A fellow seminarian

approaches me.

He smiles and asks,

Whats your name?

What do you do?

I tell him

and ask the same.

He says he is 50

and unemployed.

He sounds unsure

and frightened.

I bite into a chunk

of exotic cheese.

Cracker crumbs fall

onto the lapel

of my freshly pressed

pinstripe suit.

You Tube Music Video:

Miles Davis

Red China Blues

jbm

NYC

03/03/09

Reviews

[r. f. jordan]

thisw is an intensely poignant glimpse into the hallowed halls of a cathedral most of us are not invited to. this is mythic imagism, and spoken brilliance. if i could barter an IPO on the upward trend of the genius within this poet, no tender offering would be too bold. well done.