Cloudy with a Chance of Gain
A poem
A poem
The Dow bobs up and down
like a yo-yo dieting,
while investors hold their breath,
white-knuckled, praying for gain.
Turbulence rocks the markets
like airplane passengers bouncing
through a storm,
seatbelts securely fastened,
just hoping they can ride it out.
And we measly consumers stand in the aisle
of the soaring plane, bags spilling from the overhead,
watching the pilots wrestle the wheel,
trusting they won’t crash our dreams
into the unyielding earth.
But the view out the window
reveals a resilient landscape,
always rebuilding, replanting,
ready to bloom again.
So we straighten our seats
and prepare for the next dip,
grab our neighbour’s hand,
offer a stick of gum, a word of hope.
This too shall pass, we say,
one cycle to the next,
a messy yet beautiful ride.
Have faith in the long flight ahead.
