Monday, August 19, 2019

Richard Spillman


The bankers sniff coke in the john
of an East Village whorehouse—
yellow lights jaundice their reflections.

All day they have packaged derivatives
destined for failure, and sold them
to teachers, cops, and auto workers—

people like that. Their wives wait at home,
reading under pole lamps in pink negligee,
books about cold men converted by love.

Today, the whorehouse offers a special:
two for the price of one. Wall Street
lines up, stoked at the smell of a bargain.

Gerald So reads "Investment Banking":

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Richard confeeses: "This poen was inspired by a television news segment. A madam on Wall Street was interviewed. She claimed most investment bankers were rash, fearful and arrogant. Risk was their drug and fear their baseline emotion. Embracing fear and risk made them think deserved success. Plus cocaine helped."

RICHARD SPILLMAN is the author of In the Night Speaking and of a chapbook, Suspension. His poems have appeared Poetry and Rattle, The Southern Review and Gargoyle, and lots of other places.

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