This Autumn

I think it's so difficult to write a decent political or social poem, and this is as strident as I've come to expect from any of those exercises.  Maybe this could work if it were brought down to a more human level, if we were given images of someone specific struggling because of the ugly turn in the economy.  But instead we're given lines about rivers filled with inflation.  What does that river look like? If you can describe it to me, I may say yes to the poem after a few rivers of stiff drinks.

Brent