 Nice timing, Kenny Boy! The D stands for Don't. |
Kenneth Lay: 1942-2006
[by Ross Levine]
Kenneth Lay, dead? Did we hear right? Felled by heart stoppage in the night?
The poor man was just sixty-four,
he might've lived two decades more.
But had long life been in his stars,
he would've spent it behind bars.
Wasn't it wiser to cash it in,
Before his penance could begin?
Yet now we wonder, should we care, and offer Kenny Boy a prayer,
Or should we snicker that he's gone,
and think no more about Enron?
'Course, the firm, while at its zenith, was an energy behemoth,
It proved for years a Dow cash cow, with help from Skilling and Fastow.
But with time its milk went sour, when California, short of power,
Suffered blackouts willy-nilly,while traders bad-mouthed Grandma Millie.
In Houston, where Enron was king, Ol' Ken Lay's phone began to ring,
"We're in trouble," insiders said, "Our ink is turning bloody red."
But Ken Lay, he did not let on, (nor did Arthur Andersen)
Lay told his workers, "Have no cares, just go and buy more Enron shares!"
In truth, though, it was all a crock, hastily Lay sold off his stock,
Bigger grew his personal stash, while workers watched the stock price crash.
When at last the house of cards came down, Lay's own fortune remained sound,
The employees, however, were less sanguine, their nest eggs smashed to smithereens.
While accountants did their shredding, the feds saw Lay the crime abetting,
And indicted him, six counts of fraud, which those who'd lost all did applaud.
At his trial Lay testified, he told the world he'd never lied,
Blamed negative publicity, pooh-poohed his own complicity.
Though known as Mr. Affable, he called the charges laughable,
When asked about his lavish life, the posh yacht party for his wife,
For which he spent 200K, (The boat's name, Amnesia , by the way)
"For a life like mine, there is no spigot," said Lay, to explain the frigate.
The jury had a different take, "The workers got screwed, you got cake,"
They said guilty across the board, leaving Lay to invoke the Lord.
He and Skilling said they'd appeal, both felt the verdict a raw deal,
Lay, to the end, was not contrite, still unmoved by his workers' plight.
So now that he's met his maker, shall we judge him as a faker,
Or was he just an honest guy, whose only crime was aiming high?
Well, sure, who of us is perfect? We owe the dead no disrespect,
But then again, is greed so great, its epitome we'd celebrate?
After all, all men must die, whether they're honest or they lie,
That Lay is gone for some suffices, too bad he left behind his vices.
July 5, 2006
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