The fledglings in the bullpen are dialing
Mr Jacobs and Mr Ichan.

Databases squeeze the brokers
into horseshoes of screens,
silicone brains computing.

A crunch of consortia, charm-rubbed
into nuts and bolts.

The double-dealing light
of Black Monday has gone,
Wall Streeters are ticklish.

Ballast-poised investers
anchor under blue skies.

And the bear and bull monosyllables
are slingshot across the floor.

"My word is my bond!"
in the pit they mouth.
And the circuit-breakers
on the exchange
plot to hitch an intrigue
helping out the big noise,
the solid gold kingpin,
the devil himself
on Capitol Hill.