I hate this recession, swollen twice in spate

to obliterate the banks, to flush solids and

spring beauty alike in a volume of tumbling

brown shit.

It takes my friends and dumps them

it engulfs my plans, gone lost tumbled

shredded and all the best people taken or run

to another valley where the heavy waters

rush more still and I’m left managing hope to

the weary innocent;

perhaps I’m the best to stay and do that

hanging to the rope, holding tight to shirts and

singing