Don Pearson - Bank

Good morning, Sir. Come in and take a seat
And how can I be doing you today?
A loan? All right? Let’s hear what you’ve to say.
There’s only one criteria to meet.

Is there a business plan? Poetry? I see.
Christmas cards and others in that style?
That sort of verse could make you quite a pile.
And you could almost churn it out for free.

Another type of poem is all you do?
What costs are there? How many can you sell?
Cost: “Pain and black despair” does not read well
And income: “None”. I hope that isn’t true.

You people make me sick! You’ve got some brass!
A bank can’t just hand out to everyone.
A pound of flesh is our idea of fun.
I’d like to throw you out upon your arse.

But, wait. A mortgage. So, that flat’s your own.
Security enough, I think we’ll find.
Well, Don. (I’ll call you Don, if you don’t mind.)
The street may be your fate, but here’s your loan.

Don Pearson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bank/