New Height Books

‘Twas the night before Capitalism Day, when all through the firm
Not an employee was busy, not even the interns!
The stockings were hung by the pay-roll files with care
In hopes that the Robber Baron, soon would be there.

The secretaries were twirling, each in her own leather chair
While they dreamed of a golden Bull, chasing away a black Bear.
And VP Smith in her pants suit, and I in my vest
Had just popped the cork on Coppola’s best.

When down in the lobby there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
My key to the locked drawer I flew like a flash.
And brought out my silver pistol hidden ‘neath the petty cash.

The moon on the barrel of…. I call her the Duke
Gave a sparkle that went well with my black Armani suit.
When on the security monitor what should appear?
A tall, quick-paced Capitalist, and eight profiteers.

With a proud, scornful gaze and cashmere robes flaring
I knew in an instant it must be the Robber Baron.
The Producers of wealth, his partners they came
And he lifted his head and called them by name;

Bill Gates! Jack Welch! Steve Jobs! Sam Walton!
Walt Disney! Dave Thomas! Howard Shultz! Tom Watson!
To the top 5%! Till the market can’t take it!
While others have money, you’re the men who make it!

As small business stocks that before the opening bell tolls
When they meet a corporate merger, increase in value by ten-fold
So through every office the eight CEO’s traded
Until luxury filled the firm and work’s tire faded.

And then, like an order, I heard at my door
The knock of The Baron- The great Commodore
I invited him inside and Smith drew a chair
But he pointed behind my desk and said, “I’d rather sit there.”

His suit had the quality that so easily upstages
(And worth more than most men’s annual wages)
Fine jewels he rolled, like marbles in his hand
And he looked like a merchant admiring his brand

His eyes– so attentive! The intellect he must employ!
But his face showed no age… Like that of a boy.
His manner was all business, but his mouth became a smile.
He thought of this night’s earnings and the profit he’d compile

Without further ado he spread his gems before my eyes
Desire flickered across my face and he quoted the price for his prize
My face did not flinch though the number was high
He knew what he was doing, but then again, so did I.

We went back and forth as he countered all I offered
Until he revealed a ruby for which I would’ve emptied every coffer
He grinned as I surrendered and swept his hand through his silver mane
“Capitalism is all about trade,” he said, “and each man’s mutual gain.”

I smiled and shook his hand, then I cut him a well earned check
He said, “Next year it’s plastics, call me for the specs.”

Then he and his partners caught the Bullet to the New York Hyatt.
(Jack Welch liked the train so much, he decided to buy it.)
Then I heard the Baron call, as the train moved away with silent stealth
“Happy Capitalism Day to all, and to all liberty and wealth!”