Juicy Burger

What if money were food? 

It should flow through us just the same 

As food 

Not built into a stack of fat. 

In 1831 the richest man 

(The merchant Stephen Girard) 

Had two-hundred million pounds 

In today’s terms, 

And the poorest zero (for debt is not 

Negative money).

At the same time the fattest fellow 

(David Lampert) weighed a third 

Of a ton. 

The skinniest was not celebrated, 

Dying nameless of malnutrition, 

(But let’s say twenty kilograms). 

Roll those ratios on two hundred years, 

What would we have? 

The poorest still has zero (tears, tears) 

The richest two-hundred and fifty billion pounds.

Two-hundred and fifty billion pounds.

If the fattest had swollen by the same 

Their mass would be four hundred 

And twelve 

And a half 

Tons. 

Roughly four-hundred and sixty cubic metres big. 

Say one-point-seven metres tall.

So, these miracles of successful 

Capitalism 

Would seem as a bloated 

Purple burger 

Of a human. 

Thirteen metres across. 

With a normal armspan 

The thing’s wriggling fingers 

Buried  

Five-point-seven metres under the surface, 

Hidden down reeking holes 

On either side -  

The uncuttable nails 

Spiralling yellow into the soft 

Flesh 

Oh Captain.

And underneath, 

A tube conducts a fetid fluid 

Out to the starving world 

So that another 

Big as a whale 

Or as a mountain 

May come.