I hear my wife gently breathing.
I hear the dogs rustling around.
I hear the owl calling outside.
I hear the rain hit the ground.
I hear the water in the pipes.
I hear the A/C turning on.
I hear leaves falling.
I hear grass on the lawn.
I hear the ducts expanding.
I hear the monsters creep.
I hear the alarm sounding.
Now, I can sleep.
No pony.
No party.
Low-carb cake.
Annual physical.
Kill me now.
I’m fifty-nine years old today.
365 days until a meaningful one.
I think I need a nap.
Then it’s “Get off my lawn!” practice.
All the numbers that I just copied,
Say “This info furnished to the IRS.”
That’s so nice and easy.
The Feds don’t have to guess.
If they have the info already,
And they design the forms to fill.
Why don’t they just do our taxes?
Then just send us out our bill.
My birthday is this Tuesday.
I will spend it recovering from taxes.
Oh, such fun is my birthday!
I will be fifty-nine years old.
Too young to die,
Too old to work at IBM.
My party is not on Tuesday.
My party is this afternoon.
My family celebrates on weekends.
My family is weird that way.
The government moved holidays to Monday,
And my parents misread the memo.
So, today is my party.
Yee haw!
I still won’t get a pony.
Damn.
Maybe Tuesday a pony will arrive.
I’m not holding my breath.
Who can hold their breath for two days?
Weekends should be restful.
A time to recharge and relax.
This weekend, my schedule is not.
I have mentoring, a funeral,
A birthday party and more mentoring.
Plus, homework and taxes.
Can’t I just go to work instead?
I can’t sleep.
I’m not sure why.
I’m in bed.
I’m in the dark.
What else can I try?
I know one sure cure.
It works every day.
I need to go online.
I need to find a meeting.
Then, I’ll hit the hay.
I took accounting in college.
It was forty years ago.
Twice as long as Sgt. Pepper.
My knowledge has been fully depreciated.
(At least I remember some terms.)
Now, I have to take it again.
It is as brutal as I recalled.
Perhaps even more brutal,
Because the world discovered QuickBooks,
And our instructor has not.
I love accounting!
Said no one ever.
Well, except for
Some college friends,
Who are all now CPAs.
Perhaps CPA is a warning label,
Not a prestigious title.
People to avoid at parties.
Just sayin’.
(No offense to any CPAs.)
I remembered my CPA friends this week.
They seemed so normal back then.
This is to their credit.
Or perhaps to their debit.
Who the hell knows?
I’m moving to Bangalore.
If not India, then Singapore.
Somewhere far away from here.
Approximately twelve hours away.
Then, I can sleep during the day.
I can be awake all damn night.
It’s just over there,
I’ll be in sync with everyone else.
I need a nap.
I can’t find an idea.
There are nonrights or wrongs.
My mind is fully empty,
Except for 80’s songs.
If I can’t find the words,
Maybe I’ll use emojis instead.
Wow. I have no poetry at all,
And emojis hurt my head.
So, this time tomorrow,
I will take my pen in hand.
I’m sure I will write something.
And then will have it panned.