pomes of buddy don: My Job

My Job

They tried to explain the crisis to me,
But I just could not understand
How margins and credit lines increasingly
Are no longer ours to command,

How years of getting just what we wanted
Have left us with nothing we want
Except to know that we must act undaunted,
Pretending to be nonchalant,

How regulations that we put in place
To ensure such things couldn’t happen
Were simply ignored or even replaced
Or missed while somebody was nappin’.

They said it’s the edge of the yawning abyss
Where there won’t be two pennies to borrow,
But all that I'd like to know is just this:
Will my job still be there tomorrow?

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