The wolves of wall street by Joseph Farley

The wolves wait in silence
For our tears to end.
“Stiff upper lip,” they whisper,
As we lament our wounds
And the memory of being beaten
And abandoned in the drainage ditch
On the side of the road.
“What is gone is gone,”
they remind us,
“The new way of business
while not as kind
is more efficient and practical.”
Their fangs are so kind
As they reassure us
Of the deepening night.
And what will come with it.

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