Song of the Jealous Shareholder

In East-most West, ‘side Euphrates cool
There vanish’d, vaporous in the air,
A fire-y land ‘neath ‘verse and violent rule
Of Emperor Oil–ill-famed now most everywhere
As child of pale princes throned far from there,
Whose lips were pursed and hands did shake.
Yet when hang-ed their child, stale and rare,
They somehow–$9 trillion these princes overpaid–
Became strange fruit in desert shade.

In agony’s pose, ’round the smoking compounds lay
A million dead which a million millions mourned,
While at the stock exchange today:
Big 8 shares drop’t fast, forlorn’d,
As word of a massive recall began to flood;
A billion cars found to lack essential body parts,
Their fuel tanks–all–teem’d o’er with hottish blood.

Now the spangly, starry land in which they’re made
Turns to sad, strange fruit: a newly, Northern shade.


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