The AccountantA Poem by MarshallAll he could see were numbers that reached out and grabbed taxes and takes, invoices and expenditures. He could not see explanations of delight that little mistake I made with fringe benefits, those royalties that never came. In the end his only concern was to pay the taxes to build the roads, skyways and airports where he would travel and stay. I wondered how he slept at night cocooned in numbers just 1-9 with a hefty zero that made the difference between rich and poor I wondered how he could survive on numbers no cucumbers, sunshine salads, beach beauties, high waves of reckless living, low tides of penniless nights and endless days of counting little many times over. He said to me once: Save every cent, fortify yourself against depression and natural disasters, don't spend lavishly there's a price to pay cut up your credit card. Live austerely. Oh yeah?. That same day I got an extra CC, a nice Merc, some good looking sunglasses (to shield my eyes from the accountants glare) and a cruise to the Mediterranean where the blue waters beckoned. The accountant visited the GP twice more than me that year. I'm still working the fat off at the gym. ( I suspect petty poets do the same thing all the time?) Author NotesAnyone know this guy?
Check this Novel out! The Chrysanthemum Trilogy: Transition Marshall E Gass ISBN 9781493137848 © 2014 Marshall |
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