Will Grannis

Once while I was up late trading, and some sell-off I was fading,

(For my DOGE had dipped to levels never seen before).

While I hodled, half-delirious, came a ping—abrupt, imperious,

From the screen so dark, mysterious, where my keys I safely store.

"'Tis a margin call," I muttered, "TradFi tries to keep me poor!

But to this, I'll hodl more."

So distinctly I recall it! There was no hope to forestall it

As I saw my crypto wallet plunging thousands and still more.

How I wished I'd purchased Ripple! I'd have seen my net worth triple!

Instead my leverage they would cripple — crippled I could buy no more.

"But I promised on the Discord, ever I would buy still more!

How can l do that which I swore?"

Now I chugged my Dew electric, needing comfort, apoplectic,

In my lair so dim, domestic, in that basement's cluttered floor.

Seeing that red pop-up pulsing brought me halfway to convulsing!

And each candlestick repulsing! how they struck me to my core!

"But perhaps" said I to no one, "Might my fortune I still score?

If it recovers, I'll buy more!"

And each teensy, tiny uptrend made me hope that it might portend

A return to a price level that my trades had seen before;

Alas! Each rally turned to sorrow (and the knowledge that I'd borrow

Yet more margin in the morrow, all so that I might buy more).

"'Tis a margin call," I sputtered, "That which I bought, I now pay for."

How the feeling made me sore!

Steeling nerves to see my shortage (To think I'd borrowed 'gainst my mortgage!)

Now I opened the small pop-up, fearing what it had in store.

Peeking through my eyelids, blinded, by my fingers, half-divided,

I saw not the message minded, but instead a pup which chided,

Mocking for the choices that I knew by now had made me poor.

Quoth the Shiba, "Bag Hold More."

Then this figure, tan, unholy, wagged its tail and barked out slowly,

Spoke again that phrase that killed me, chilled me deeper than before:

"Dog of DOGE!" I cried in terror, "tell me this is but an error,

Tell me, loyal standard-bearer, tell me hope is not a chore!"

But the Shiba, softly mocking, casting light across the floor,

Echoed darkly: "Bag hold more."

"Must I mop at Carl's Junior, or do something yet still crueler?

Use my car and try out Uber? All to settle up this score?"

If the mongrel heard my pleading it made no sign of acceding,

Only stared, its eyes unheeding, eyes which deep within me bore.

Then the Shiba, unrelenting, barked as though my sole it tore.

And what it barked: "Bag hold more."

Trapped I've sat now several ages, spending all my fast-food wages

As his curse within me rages and I pay up evermore.

Every gain a taunt repeating, every loss my faith depleting

And my very soul retreating, sucked into that monitor.

Shiba Inu, smiling warmly, ever chiding heretofore,

As it whispers "Bag hold more."