In this poem I imagine a tutorial on economics given by a Scrooge-like person, a person who seems to delight in a rather harsh view of how monetary transactions work. May this not be your experience, neither as the person who is speaking, nor as the one who is spoken to.
I fear my inspiration for this poem came from reading a rather sobering section of The Ascent of Money, by Niall Ferguson, a book on the history of money, in all its forms. Thanks for coming by to read.
Fortune favors the bold.
Fortune favors the young–not old–
With less to lose and more to gain,
It makes them eager to try again.
Bad Fortune makes us cold.
Fortune favors the few,
So I may prosper more than you.
You cry, “Unfair!” Demand redress.
I don’t mind your unhappiness.
There’s not enough, for two.
Fortune despises the meek.
An honest man won’t dare to seek
A higher perch, a sharper scheme.
He’d rather blend in, in between.
His prospects look quite bleak.
Fortune wields a club.
You’re not her favorite? She will slug
You, grind your face into the dirt–
While I’m rejoicing, at your hurt–
Deep in the pit you’ve dug.
Fortune thrives on pain.
If you’re deprived, she will disdain
You, siphon off your every cent,
And bleed you, till your clothes are rent–
Your every loss, my gain.
Copyright 2022 Andrea LeDew