Friday, January 13, 2012

The Glove Song of J Eugene Stiglitz

In the world the tankers come and go
Talking of Michelangelo...

No longer apes and peacocks and brazen locks,
No longer ivory and resin, amber and socks...

Surely is underdevelopment the bane
Say the prophets of the ticker
We should pump it up, inflate the pain.
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the garment of my mattress flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

No! I am no development framework, nor was meant to aid;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two;
Avulse the print and other media tools,
Deferential to the internet,
Politic, cautious, meticulous,
Incapable of sentence-making yet,
Most times indeed ridiculous,
Though from the best of schools.

But South America still lies stagnantly
Like seaweed floating in the listless sea.
I have heard the mermaids singing each to each
Their apocalyptic future on the beach.

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