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