Upon Tesco's chair, Murphy sits,
Come September, will bear the grits.
Old Grote, now the director grand,
In roles of yonder he'll command.

The dollar's fate, interlaced in facts,
Upon macro signs, its strength impacts.
From Powell's call, interest may rise,
Midst Euro's range in foreign skies.

The metals inch, with wary gaze,
Supply woes lend support, not haze.
Yet gold doth dip, in fear and term,
'Gainst rate hikes looming, ANZ confirms.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur