Letter to the Bank Manager #94 (It's Just a Game)

My Dear BM,

Just as I am the ravaged land left in your wake, you are the shadow left in mine of a morning. As the sun brings light in to the bathroom I can say goodbye to the nightmares and the anxiety, and flush the waste away, the exhausted energy consumed in fretting. Some say that dreaming is the brains dustbin (I never did agree with this thesis) but perhaps nightmares surrounding issues of debt, or mortgages going south, are.

How unhelpful the actions that leave so many paralyzed and unable to work their best magic, consumed as they are by concern as to where they might find their next paycheck. The destruction caused by the financial sector is tantamount to a nationwide firebombing and it is with relief that I hear our current president state, in no uncertain terms, that no further bail outs on the taxpayers’ dime will be forthcoming. You bounce and I strike hard in the handball court of public opining. You return fall force ever oblivious to the pain you continue to cause, your thoughts moving on to the next sneaky way to cover all your impending court costs and fines using the money of your frustrated, ever despoiled depositors.

I whack hard as you return and send you flying into the neglected backyard BBQ pit of a boarded up foreclosed home where you sit in the ashes of ancient beef steak, and chicken thigh, and smile as you rise up, floating like a balloon, unperturbed, into the sky where your friends, the clouds, swallow you up and give you the space to forget the pain you cause and once more put aside any hint of guilt that might dare to darken your always bright future.

It is so fashionable to bash bankers right now. I’m thrilled. This is the first time in my life I’ve been at the cutting edge.

If you should be one of the honest ones...please rein in your prodigal brethren instead of complaining about being misunderstood.


Yours seriously being sincere,


A. H. O’Connor