Brother, Can You Spare a Square?

“Once I sat atop my throne of plenty Groomed my bottom without care…”

by Joe Váradi

They told me the country was doing great
I went along with the mob
They told me the markets would keep going up
Now I’m home — and out of a job

The Fat. The Proud. The ‘murican Shoppers
We were the Golden Horde
Our spending arms now severed at the wrist
Skewered by the pandemic sword

Once my grocer’s shelves they overflowed
Now the hygiene aisle is bare
Cottonelle and Charmin, where art thou
Brother, can you spare a square?

Once I sat atop my throne of plenty
Groomed my bottom without care
Now the roll sits barren and depleted
Brother, can you spare a square?

How long must life go on like this
I have an itch I can’t scratch
One filthy crack is one too many
Thank Heaven I don’t have a snatch