Creeping fiscal misery,
Whispers in the kitchen until,
The bitter hiss of mistrust,
Insinuates itself inside,
The loving words of a comfortable,
Suburban home,
Seeping into sleeping hearts,
Like liquid nitrogen quietly unseen,
Making the next casual, unthinking, comment,
(though only intended to be temporary and superficial),
The hammer which smashes complacent stability,
Stripping the insulation,
Of bourgeous pretence, opening,
The fragile heart to the sharp,
Cold, interminable pain,
Of regret.
For those who believed,
The bedtime tale that happiness,
Could be bought,
The draught of the overdraft has blown,
Their house of cards down.
The Big Bank Wolf will dine,
On swine tonight.

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