The money rests in a numbered account in a warm climate,
In a jurisdiction that asks very few questions of the wealthy,
The money rests in the tropical sun at the optimal rate,
The money rests while the country it came from is unhealthy.
Where the money rests is where the obligation ends,
Where the money rests is where the citizen pretends,
That the money and the country are not the same address,
Where the money rests is where the patriotism leaves.
The inner workings of the country that produced the wealth,
The educated workers and the courts that enforce the contracts,
The roads and airports and the legal wiring and the health,
Of the society that makes the business possible attracts.
The money uses all of this and parks itself offshore,
When the bill arrives at the end of the fiscal year,
The money says it is domiciled somewhere else before,
The taxing authority can get too close and near.
I wonder if the people in the offshore jurisdiction,
Think of themselves as complicit or as just providing services,
The banker in the island with the beneficial restriction,
Of client information and the regulatory surfaces.