The Private Banker
By William B. Meissner

A Private Banker shows his stuff
By wearing many hats.
Today, he sells his client shares;
Tomorrow, walks her cats.

A better reference none could want
On things of haute cuisine,
Or futures, junk bonds, unit trusts,
Or tinted limousines.

He peddles funds from Luxembourg,
Gets tickets to the Met.
A call from Rome, a fax from Vail,
He'll get an emerald set.

Some clients choose Hotel Pierre;
A few, the Sheratons.
But all seek counseling on laws
Of disinheritance.

The clients' common trait? They're rich!
(Or read, they're "high net worth".)
Some toiled in Third World cabinet posts;
Some made it all at birth.

Just where the money came from no
One ever asks, of course;
It all looks so legitimate
When churning in the bourse.

He straddles in debentures and
In any family strife;
He'll shelter deals from taxes, or
A client from his wife.

A weekend in the Hamptons he can
Schedule at once;
At Twenty-One, all booked, he gets
A downstairs seat for lunch.

He'll find a fancy condo, or
A mooring for a yacht.
(His only rue is knowing that
What they have, he ain't got.)

All the while investing for a
Widow or her cohort;
Would the Private Banker had a
Little more to show for't.

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