Advice To Traders In A Greedy Town (Poetry)

Beware of getting comfortable —
one dare not sit too snug
or yanked at speed from underneath
the landlord’s greasy rug
goes at lease-renewing time
negotiations fail
the rent has tripled — lesser crooks
have found themselves in jail.

It matters not a fig to him
your budget’s now kaput
and you have nowhere else to go
he’s other plans afoot.
The deal is done and you must leave
within the contract’s term.
The only guarantee is slime
when dealing with a worm.

Small consolation there are those
who wish that you could stay
but profit is the landlord’s god
he fails to grasp fair play
or heed opinions foreign to
sheer greed — for money makes
such perfect sense. He never gives
but takes and takes and takes ...

The town’s been cursed for many years
by men who skulk behind
some shadowy facade to rob
each local business blind
and what they wreck in terms of lives
appears of no concern —
they sit and tune their fiddles while
more traders crash and burn.

Nobody stays for very long
the welcome mat wears thin
as overheads go through the roof
the balance sheet looks grim
and cash flow staggers to a halt
the venture’s heading west
while that old vampire landlord waits
his bloody pound of flesh.

More shops are shutting — boarded up
once well-known names are gone
the refit firms move in and take
their quick advantage from
another trader with no clue
how time will supersede
for nothing lasts — the town’s sold out
to faceless Demon Greed.