The Economic Report

The muddled message
of desert dreams
Crashing about
like an opiate fit
Thrown by the huddled masses
Just before
They dropped their chains
in fervent hope
(lurking deep in their hearts)
That they too
Could go shopping
(each day in the market place)
Only to find the shelves
going bare
While they fidgeted with
their last two dollars
Buried deeper than their
parents' graves
In the silky tattered
folds of moth balled purses
And there, as the chasm opened
to faith long lost
Did they finally cry
to some distant
Spot in the sky
where they heard
The wizard lived
behind fluted drapes
In a seersucker suit
selling ice cream
On the side.