
by Christopher Norris
He had it coming, Thompson did,
He had it coming soon,
But it was that last buy-out bid
Brought us to our High Noon.
There’s loads of ways to rake it in,
Exploit and profiteer,
While ‘healthcare’ puts a pious spin
On every deal you clear.
Some make their pile by building smart
New instruments of war,
With lethal options à la carte
And feet in every door.
Press moguls make their devil’s pact
By hiring hacks to spread
Those lies that see the war-odds stacked
Sky-high like piles of dead.
But what of them, the medicine-men
Who’ve wised up to the scam,
Pushed private care, cashed in, and then
Made friends with Uncle Sam.
That way they’ll get the best of both
Worlds: grab the dividends,
Then fix things so the market growth
Provides for Wall-Street friends.
Soon they’ll have butchered Medicare,
Thrown millions on the heap,
Mere ‘losers’ given notice they’re
Too sick to earn their keep.
So, Thompson, that’s the reason I,
Luigi, fired the shot,
Not ‘in cold blood’ nor ‘prompted by
Some daily-rubbed sore spot’,
But just to warn that circling mob
Those hawks of high finance,
The same’s in store for those who rob
The sick of their last chance.