All the poor yups
Smashed into
     their credit limits
Volvos over the cliff
     turning end over end
Exploding on impact
     like one of those science films
We had to watch
     lest it go on our permanent record

All those poor
     poor yups
Hip deep in software
     and panicked
     I mean scared
Resurrecting
     or at least exhuming T. S. Eliot
Hoping for a little . . .
     well . . .
Blood
     or something

All those poor yups
Gathered around the big T's coffin
Wishing they knew
     a ritual chant or something
     anything
Don't you remember
We threw those away?
T. S. sits up
     grimly surveying the lot
"Oh, Mister Elliot
     we only got everything we ever wanted
     and we are so unhappy
     sooooo very unhappy."

Marble lips part
"Well duhhhh!"