Jackson is the Beverly Hills of Wyoming. This former ranching town has been discovered and has been cited by no less than a publication than the New York Times as ‘the town of choice for billionaires to move to’. Last year Jackson was rated the highest per capita income of the whole country. What was the source of that income? Ranching? Tourism? No- it was investments!
The trouble with this become a rich man’s valley is that we regular folks must also pay the outrageous prices for goods that they do.
Here is some poetry that gives you an idea of the situation:
In every city that ever was
Landlords play a vital part
But here in Jackson they elevated the job
To a very specialized form of art.
Greed is a keen passion
that here has become a fashion
And every little, half built hovel
Requires a price paid by the shovel.
For a floor, a roof and walls four
You will be charged incredibly more
Than Walt paid for his Disney castle
Which was built with much less hassle.
With land here at such a premium
Your rent will be by per diem (daily)
And definitely make your budget a wreck
Being significantly more than your paycheck.
But be of good cheer
A Happy Ending is here
There is an answer for a financial glue
When winter comes, go build an igloo!
Working three jobs can be a real drag
For those of us without a huge money bag
But we prod steadfast on
Towards an unseen horizon
Leaving us still a long way gone.
We venture it seems
Balancing on uneven beams
Trying not to tip
So far that we slip
And into murky waters dip.
Our future is dark
Lit by nary a spark
Only one way can lead us to a life
Free of dire financial strife
Search and find a billionaire wife!
Bollards (Bollards look like skinny bowling pins the city sets up at obnoxious places throughout the town to seperate the vehicular traffic from the bicylists. They give way too much room to the cyclists not enough to the car and trucks that actually pay for the road maintenence.)
Bollards, bollards everywhere
Throughout downtown and up to the Square.
Supposedly for school kids to be secure
But in the summer is it not premature?
Allowing bicycles three abreast
They put large vehicles to the test
Too narrow for buses and garbage trucks
They make the passage through sheer dumb luck.
They look like bowling pins that are rather thinny
And make the streets passable only for Mini’s
Before there was already not enough parking
But whoever listens to angered drivers barking?
Perhaps their purpose is something less manifest,
And the hidden answer that answers it best
The local homebodies don’t like all the bustle
From the summerly trailer parking hustle.