Abject

Abject we are in this old corner the bottom of economy’s dog-pile.Our savings fear no passing wind like w.p.i.weekly non-farm rolls.

We are oldies fluttering papers.We shout in no halls of bourses. Our diaphragms do not vibrate to money-wet cries of brokers.

Term deposits are fixed stares.As they stare, eyes turn marble.Principal grows shrinking skin ,interest a sneeze,an abject nose.