Free Market

Lively chit chat
At the infallible tempo
Of the clinking of glass.

A drizzle of jazz
On live canapés,

Waiters who model.

Our man
Keeps his business cards
Very close to his chest.
No rush, no push.

He knows what is right
He knows who to approach
He knows how to wait
He knows when to fall
Softly and warmly
On his pickled prey:
The greedy relation
Who awaits with a smirk
For the usual courting.

Education,
Health,
Weapons,
Research,
Transport,
Land,
It’s all up for grabs
It is all fair game,
It’s all the same.
It’s all just money,
At the end of the day.
(We don’t discriminate cash for its colour).

And

When the deal is ready,
The cloths
Of both parties
Drop
Discreetly
On the floor.

Only Private Eye
Knows the strength of their bids.

No chance
For clean
Spreadsheets,
No need
For financial
Latex,
No point
In trimming the hedges.
This is,
Brutally,
A family affair,
Lubricated with the spark
Of Conservative Champagne.

Sneaky voyeurs
Pay a good price
For the steam in the room
Where business thrives,
Where public assets
End up privatised,
Where bastards in arms
Trade our demise.

Broadcasted in Bloomberg
For the rest of the world.
Close-ups available
In the salmon press.

Tony Martin-Woods

Copyright © 2012-2015. Tony Martin-Woods (A.M.A.)
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved.

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