I’m a writer of fiction and poetry, when all’s said and done, and on the basis that a page of demonstration is worth a hundred of explanation, I’m going to start blogging with poems and stories every two days – some of them published, some not, in the hope that you all, dear readers, will be engaged and intrigued enough to want more.
Today’s item is dedicated, if that’s the right word, to our lovely bankers and all their works. It does not attempt to be unbiased
Owed to Banking
There’s a small charge on entering the bank for the wear and tear to our door
and a token Carpet Maintenance Fee for having your shoes on our floor.
You’ll find the branch is well organised to make sure our clients keep
to winding lines from the front to the back like nicely obedient sheep.
A single till will be working, while in various background places
several people will be sitting around with staring, vacant faces.
When you finally get to the counter, a pen is available there
securely chained and held in case anyone might dare
to pinch from the bank a plastic pen which doesn’t actually write
and never has been known to, though there’s always the chance that it might.
Whatever it is that you think we do, we almost certainly don’t
and, even if we usually will, this will be the day when we won’t.
We will not condone indolence or encourage the nation to shirk
so we only ever open when we know everyone’s at work
but there are, of course, cash machines for access to your goodies
generally placed right opposite large gangs of teenage hoodies
and, in any case, we’re doing our best to give you an accurate sign
that anyone with a grain of sense is now doing their banking online.
We’ll fix you a mortgage for the rest of your life, or even a personal loan
with no unreasonable demands except making your soul our own.
If you’re loaded, we’ll meet and greet you with a bright and cheery ‘good day’;
if you’re skint, then kindly bugger off and play on the motorway.
A genuine illness emergency might just be worth a try,
but inside the margin of three working days, you cannot officially die.
Our chairman’s pension equals twenty teachers’ pay put together
and our directors all have more than enough to live on for ever and ever
and every year we award ourselves a new binge of bonus purses,
each one of which would pay the wages of about twenty seven nurses.
Our kids all go to the very best schools where the values they are taught
are that everything and everyone is available to be bought.