My Banker

Evil lurks within our midst of a Creature dark and creepy. A cursed hound who wails at night making children cold and weepy. The Beast exists and its blood runs cold with gloom and desperate rancor. You may have seen it in the shadows, your friendly local Banker. Disowned by siblings, shunned by friends, its social standing blank. Its Parents shame when forced to tell, 'My Son works in a Bank.' My crop is large and the fields are full. I need money for a bin. To the Bank I go and see my guy, He says, 'Come right on in.' I tell my story, he nods a bit, then gives it to me straight. 'Our moneys tight but we can help if we raise your interest rate.' When times are good, he returns my calls as jovial as can be. But when investments tank and rain is scarce, he's mighty tough to see. When full of stress, you need a hand and your days are wrought with strife. Your business suffers but he does fine and buys a trophy wife. Am I sordid and out of sync, feeling tense and dour? The games he plays, his terms unfair, I'm helpless in his power. And then this Christmas, he sends a note, I'm thinking he's a louse. 'Season's Greetings and Happy New Year, We're taking back your house.'