101. The Bad times

The decade ran out.
So did the spirit.
“No longer are good times here.”
The bands with cash registers stopped playing
No one drank their favorite drink
Because people stopped paying.
The money stopped flowing.
A crash in the market
Sent people flying
Out of Wall Street windows.
Main Street was filled with desperate men
Who wore rags and starved in the streets.
Long dreary years came though.
Money disappeared.
No one worked.
No one bought
While merchandise collected dust on the shelves.
Hopelessly long bread-lines.
Mass migrations to California.
In hope of getting a job and finding their gold.
All they found were sepia colored,
Black and white afternoons
Of restlessly wandering
Wondering when things will get better.
But nothing did.
The army held the White House
Demanding their pay.
Hoover got the blame
When they built his shacks.
People used his flags.