Anomie

Murkan Airlines,
with a wink and a nod,
hauls congress to and fro
for the Holiday Break,
the first order of business being
what to call it?
Christmas is too Christian
and if we serve one,
they’ll all want free drinks.

Guzzling sweet crude and
blood diamonds, the Grand Poobah
flashes a greasy smile,
wipes his lips on his lackey’s paycheck
and rumbles “Ain’t nobody serves ‘em up
better ‘n’ Halliburton!”

Back at Gawd-R-Us,
everybody’s lost their shirts
in Texas Hold ‘Em.
It’s game over man;
Diversity catches the
midnight train to Georgia,
laying low in the mail car.

Town hall meeting is cancelled
due to protest by The Organization of
Those Who Don’t Give a Shit,
seeing as it violates their
constitutional right to ambivalence.

Burglars United beds the Brady Bunch
hoping to get bullets labeled as antisocial.

Bernie Madoff, out for good behavior,
skunks Bernanke in a game of one-on-one;
dusting off his jacket, he quips,
“Enough of this politeness shit,
let’s get down to brass tacks.”

The Me Generation wakes from their slumbers,
yearning for the dry look;
Studio 54 reopens in celebration.

Below the hullabaloo,
Mother Theresa rolls over in her grave
slaps her forehead and mutters
“Christ on a crutch,
what if I was wrong?”