In the City

25 Mar

 This is a bit of a piss-take…

More poetry can be found in my anthology, published at

free to dowload, but please leave a contribution…


Traders crowd on screens of whizzing numbers,

Sweating trepidation, outwardly cool cucumbers.

Shirtsleeves up, ties slackened, unloosened,

They watch the price plummet, looking flummoxed, confused and

Track the stock’s movement 200 basis points down;

Tap the screen, frustrated, mumble and frown.

But it’s ok really, just a brief fluctuation.

Now to find an outlet for that pent-up frustration.

Some head to spin class, others to lunch.

Recreational coke habits died with the credit crunch.

Charlie the broker calls, pitching derivatives.

The FTSE’s morning performance means capital’s limited.

Suddenly screens are down, low-latency circuits all fried.

They console themselves, distracted, watching Bloomberg at five;

Even though timing’s out cos from the US it’s live.

Hot Chinese girl announces new QE programme,

Bullet-speed diction achieved through 20-minute pre-cram.

What will this mass buyback do for bond prices?

The same thing a freezer does for melting choc ices.

Slow market at closing, nothing moving; it’s tepid.

Not bull, not bear, more like slow-munching aphid.

They collect their convertible from the subterranean garage.

The world outside frosted glass looks a flickering mirage,

On the journey home to a neat suburban semi,

Or a penthouse apartment for the few who like a view.

In the morning they’ll do it all again.

It’s all right, it’s ok, just good sport between friends.


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