Thursday, August 27, 2015



Accounting Identities

When Cliff started fooling around with her, she was shocked.

Even moreso as she found herself responding.

Both caught hold, then. Cooly agreed to try for a year.

Accountants, they had stayed late that Friday to
trace a trivial anomaly in local taxes.

After the year was up, he emailed regrets from
Portland, where the company had sent him to
straighten out the billing of a satellite office.

She could have sent the same message, with
the horizontal row of the same smiley faces--
though the down-turned models of same.

Oh well, both warm and funny people, yet not
a good fit.

Good Faith Effort! And long! “How long, Lord,
how long?”
she sang a quiet joke.

After, mused, primarily on the moderate sex, which
she'd probably miss.

"Probably? Why not not at all?" laughed she, finally.

"Marcy Firestone!" she proclaimed to her dark image in
the hall mirror that night. "You’re growing up!"

Which bothered her, initially, because she wasn't
Marcy Firestone.

Who swims in several times in the next week or two.

A comfort.

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