The Crash Poem by Eric Cockrell

what are you going to do
when you have to leave behind
your air conditioned offices
and your three martini lunches?

and you lose your mercedes,
and your mansion on the hill,
your escorts and your servants,
your cocaine, and american express?

are you going to scrub for bolgna
with the rest of us?
are you going to sleep
under the bridge, or in the alley?

gonna sell blood for a loaf of bread,
and a pint of wine?
gonna rob convenience stores?
beg for quarters?

are you going to sell your wives
and daughters?
gonna stand in the soup line
with your heads down and hands open?

or are you going to
jump out your windows...
kissing the pavement
of eternal greed?