A poem for Driftglass

(in response to this post)

Virgil took Dante down
to the fourth circle of Hell:
reserved for those sinners who
made out "very well."

Madoff, AIG,
all the bankers, and Thune
forced to push heavy gold
on a rough sandy dune.



The riches are plenty
and they push every day.
It's not theirs,
They labor without any pay.

No bonus, no dividend,
No fancy car.
So close to the cash,
And yet so very far.

Virgil was stoic,
but Dante could not believe.
The richest on earth,
Left to suffer and grieve!

"Damnation?" asked Dante.
"How on earth did they win it?"
Virgil just shrugged:
"There's a club. You're not in it."

But he is.