If facing the paper, your thought is 'I am an artist', you have no clue what to do. If the concepts of your function are, 'I am a shape maker, an entertainer, an expressive symbol collector'...then you have an explicit road map. Edgar Whitney

Saturday, July 25, 2009

The Accountant Cries

On his solitary walks
he feels the air in front of him
searches for her soft arm
the smell of soap and roast lamb.

Her hands folded in her lap
even when she watched
the 6 o'clock news her hands
were stored competency
reserved for mysterious tasks.

At school he'd imagine her hands
(he loved the fine wrinkles
in the pads of her index finger)
he'd imagine them at school
as he learned to rule
exercise books in neat columns.

Pushing his tie more firmly
against the knot of his throat
he flicks imaginary lint from
the knee of his immaculately
crossed trouser leg and

He feels the air in front of him

the long breath of years
too frightened to leave his body.


  1. My favorite line:

    "the long breath of years
    too frightened to leave his body"

    You are quite a master at poetry. Excellent work.

  2. Thank you Carrie. Based on your comment, I think I will make that stanza the final one. I think it's a stronger ending.

  3. I have read through this poem several times since you posted it. Its a masterpiece. Truely.