The Wreck of the Old 47

By Cliff Lake

 

The Wreck of the Old 47

 

The morning meeting convenes,

The accolades are sung.

Just another day

Behind the wrecking ball.

He’s being lied to,

And accepts anyway.

He looks run down,

So he takes all the money,

To convince himself he’s not drowning.

He gazes at his good time buddies,

As they look at what he’s done.

Nothing seems to change,

While the house stays shut down,

And none of them will tell him,

That he’s been such a fool.

“SNAP!”, he cackles,

“Let them eat crypto!”, he says,

Guarding his own pile manically.

“Let them eat ICE tear gas!”

He gazes around the room,

Waiting on the expected harumphs.

“Harumph!”, they bark, “Harumph!”

The assistant vampire steps forward,

“The cozening will continue!”, it declares,

Convincing no one further.

They know what’s at stake,

And none wish to be tied to the whipping post,

Nor chained and bound.

Yeah,

Sometimes they feel like…

It’s dying,

The support they had feels like it’s dying.

Paycheck to paycheck,

Hand to mouth may not cut it any longer,

And punishing people for being disliked,

Won’t fill a belly.

When the sun is warm,

And the fridge is stocked,

A little unnecessary violence,

Can go a long way…

But when the rates go up,

And the bills won’t stop coming in in spite of that,

When the mailman is someone to hide from,

Then deportation isn’t quite as satisfying as

A cured ham,

Or a cured cough.

“Let them eat gold!”, he says,

Keeping it to himself.

“Let them eat the ACA!”

The harumphs keep coming,

And the whipping post stands…

And the country feels like it’s dying.

 

(Credit: Gregg LeNoir Allman - Whipping Post)

 

Cliff Lake 10/31/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

Location: Washington, DC, USA

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