Black Hole

The diagnosis is delivered decisively,
a great big nothing the problem
   our pockets somehow empty,
pickpocketed skilfully by paper prophets 
who demandthey be filled and fuelled.

Pushing our friends, neighbours in,
retreating to our loving family and a loving past:
mowing with Victor, listening to Bob,
Liz so much younger, Charles
a name to respect, a real man
with respect for his elders 
and authority, following the footsteps
of those who trampled before them.

Carry a sharp knife to cut
through the wilderness,
through the realpolitik, the rhetoric
the emptiness of our pockets,
their hearts soaring with the Dow...

Fueled by soothing j-curve jargon
the doctor demands diet
in deference to demure dragons
with a cold steely stare, they dig
into our pockets, for our souls.

Caught on the wave of fortune
fluctuating in a fiscal fervour,
urging freedom to fill the nothing
with sterner, stricter medicine
while cursing anachronistic concern
with a deadly diagnosis delivered. 

the black hole is pulling us
and our hearts are about to implode
under the gravity of the situation
caring is disappearing 
on the economic event horizon