Swatting at Flies

The gold is black,
Except when it is white.
Getting it is wrong,
Though we say it is right.

So why do we mortgage
Our American dream?
The answers are the same;
Their color is green.

Carefully constructed,
This intricate plan,
But is the ointment's fly
A truly honest man?

The plan comes apart
With less than a kick.
(Of cards, this house,
Not built of brick!)

Or perhaps it falls down,
This shakiness of lies,
Because those inside
Are swatting at flies!

(Dedicated to friends, old and new.)