Saturday, August 22, 2015

Business

I don’t have the stomach for writing poems anymore.

In the past 8 years,
my total income from poetry is $5.

Adjusted for inflation,
it’s closer to $5.50.

This puts me in an advantageous tax bracket.

I’ve also received numerous contributor’s copies
as payment
from journals that have published my work.

My accountant managed to get these written off
as gifts—the transfer of property
without expecting to receive
something of at least equal value
in return—
and they are tax deductible.

The other day I was charged $35,
an overdraft fee,
and in the morning I went to the bank.

The fee could have been forgiven,
the banker explained,
if it weren’t for your account’s tenureship.

Tenureship here meant
I hadn’t had an account for very long.

I told him, I won’t make $35 dollars for 56 years,
I’m a poet.

But the deduction had already posted,
and, sadly, at that juncture
an override was deemed
impossible.

Impossible.

Some people simply don’t believe in miracles.

A few days later a taxi driver told me
money is always coming and going,
coming and going.

And it is.

He picked me up at the airport
and immediately missed my turn.

My office is less than ten minutes from the airport
and I watched it glide by
as we merged onto
the highway.

I said,
you should have turned back there
and he told me about
Afghani vehicle preference—
how strong engines trump fuel efficiency
over there, because of the mountains.

I said I liked Indian food.
“That tikka masala. What a dish."

I was late for work and
he charged me $50 dollars
on what should have cost $15.
I gave him a $12 tip.

I don’t have the stomach for writing poems anymore.
I can’t afford it.

But every now and again
I find myself doing it anyway.
.

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