the economist and I

the economist and I are fae the same lang toun

he was shaped by the capital and spending time with Hume
inspired patriot rebels and came to influence soon

everyone from Marx to Wall Street tycoons

I was there in the nineties, before dial-up was obsolete

when the fans in the railway stand used to fill all the seats

the settled will of the people, for some remained incomplete

half-time in Munich and they’ll be dancing in the streets

more than 200 years after the philosopher’s death

with his statues and institutes and the national debt

even a far-off asteroid bears his fabled epithet

like a Champagne Supernova from my cousin’s cassette

and the fireworks above his theatre which made me upset

an explosive debate surrounds his key messages

like Jacobite rebellions and yes-voting percentages

hearing Brimful of Asha on the Forty-Five carriages

of the fairground dodgems recalled in fragmentary images

these Links Market memories and a free market idol

cited when “greed is good” experienced a revival

but would it be sacrilege or breaking with protocol

to suggest the hand’s invisible cause it’s not there at all?

“read the whole book”, some dissenters would say

insisting he foretold industrial misery and drudgery

and saw vast inequality wherever there’s great property

not like some zealot for the modern gig economy

if division of labour can make us happy and smarter
it won’t be when my leisure time means you have to work harder
that’s the dogma of Thatcher and most Presidents post-Carter
to pursue one’s own ends with furious ardour

while some live in opulence and others in destitution

the homeless man told me about a cultural revolution

that we should all be feminists like Chimamanda’s solution

this is bigger than Asis Ansari, it’s entrenched in institutions

so if men are jacks of all trades, but masters of none
it means we’re all responsible, but monsters not one

before the enlightenment the real witch-hunts were run

women burned at the stake now left to rot in the sun

reject the tabloid hysteria and see the pattern of causation

they bragged of spit-roasting sluts during grand slam celebrations

she faced a blaze of sceptics, they were cleared of all the allegations

what does that say about the health of our sick nations?
some things matter more than the wealth of our six nations

where flaming schemes engulf kids' dreams and some of them go unfed

they get sympathy til they're twelve, then they’re just called neds

my Gran knew her butcher and baker, she goes to Tesco now instead

“place the item in the bagging area”, is all that anyone said

through self-interest not benevolence, these exchanges became unfettered

it’s insincere to scaremonger, but some things could be better

we’re all looking for the next prophet, the next hero or trendsetter

just remember that the postie is equal to the man of letters