the day the words were hijacked

(a rare FIAC 'protest' poem)

the day the words were hijacked

by a filthy investment banker
wolf's at the door
carting cool hundred-mill
finally come full circle
another sign of the apocalypse

when wall street’s welcomed with open arms
and establishment is art
beauty is a tired pony, so
sell it to the knackers, or let it sniff my fart

hack hack is there no voice of dissent?
hack hack hack you must not, though poor, relent.

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