I was broke, would you credit

I consulted a credit broker

Whom, I may add,

Was neither a borrower nor a lender,

But

  When I looked in his eye, seeking a sign

Espying a pickle broken, floating image;

Mine

Looking for a settlement likewise;

I stared a varied minute

  His verdict-glances hung me; I’d done creditably;

And stared at me, searching my brain’s disposal,

As if, I think, the drunken symptoms of carousal

In incoherence flowed; his visage blenched avuncul-

  -ar: breaks into a canny, rude uncommon laughter,

This avocation reminisces on my doomed hereafter.

Should I have broke this news?

  Which like an Attic vase tipped, falters; bowling, shatters

As dashed depicted celebration shocks to petty pieces;

Grist's dished; communicated by a bland exchange of faces;

Nor not a word heard dropped

  My chances spent; resigns, unpropped, apropos

My soundless oratory; lets objects crumble

An haute couture resembling resolution stumbles

And wrenched and token case excuses now make mumble

  No Thespian, theatrical accreditation on my part

Of worth, no earned applause; few graceless wary lucubrations

Then brittle snaps all sterling capability

  Wit’s uncollected currency demurs beyond its scope.

And it has gotten late;

It makes good sense post-haste to quit the place,

Instinct metabolises

  One killing brute material consideration:

A broker and a cheapjack joker mismatched side by side;

Ah, which the broker; whom to deem the purer joke?

  In truth I tried and lied