Writing 201: Day 7 prompt, form and device are – fingers, prose poem, assonance.
“Light Fingers” means to steal. To move outside the common weal of caring sharing. Finger me if you must if you want to call me names. I have no time for games with you unless we’re talking competition. Market forces are the deal. I’ll get my fingers in your pie. Oh dear, you cry. So what, I say, the way to progress is to grow. And fight, of course, my might is right. My money pot will always grow, yours must go, to debt you know. Oh no, you say you will work harder, as if your striving made me giving. I can still strip bare your larder. All your assets will be mine, in time.
For I’m a banker in my prime. Even your governments agree with me. The banks can’t fail. They’ll always give me bail, never let us fail, they want to borrow more. The joke, the jest, its your money, I charge you interest.
I’m a banker. What are you, you wanker? You who care and share and trust. You’re a failure, rousted, rusted, savings gone to dust. You want a handout, not a chance. Your money’s not enough you say, please give me a meal today. You believed in common weal. Now what’s it worth? Don’t you know the finance dance? Look out. Look out. Light fingers are about. What can you say to me, the man of wealth?
Look Out. Look Out. Who me? You’re gone. Oh Oh the world is lost, slipped through my fingers.
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If anyone is interested in why our economy is a nightmare, and where some of this poem came from, I try to make sense of alternative economic ideas, as it seems that the corporate world and financial markets have failed us all. If you have two hours, watch this: