Rock Accountant

Month: April, 2021

Words that Hate Poetry

Poetry is the last thing
That would occur to letters
that were mulling around
hunting for something to say.

Words, if pressed, would testify
that gathering to rhyme is
only for holidays.

Proud writers feel awkward
leaving only verse,
daggling statements that are
unsure of their periods.

But I prefer the short shit,
it pleasantly matches
the number of readers I have.

Roses Are Red (or Something): Bad Poetry Competition Hits WT This Thursday  | HPPR

Pardonable Poetry

Even in the urgency of a bar’s “last call,” a woman can smoothly counterfeit a sentimental landscape that will help her overlook the alleyway or the cheap hotel where she will wind up on any given night.


Women do not declare love at the last minute based on sexual hysteria as men do. They are more agile. They invent pardonable poetry to envelope their poor decisions.

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How I dressed with The Who

Below please find a photo taken of me as I dressed during my years with The Who.

I early on impressed the band with my natural self-discipline.

Though Keith Moon once did confide that he thought the bracelets were “too much,” he spent much of his time aping my understated appearance.

Particularly in his off-stage outfits.

No photo description available.

How I learned how to handle Rhubarb and Black People


I was bunching up the line for homemade rhubarb and cumin pies at the Farmers Market Wednesday while explaining to two friends that I was making real headway on this “diversity” thing. My tactic, I told them, was to invite people of “difference” over to my house for dinner, so we would grow to be more like one another and not so “diverse” anymore.
Well, nothing, it seems, empties little minds like jealousy. They said I had “diversity” all wrong, and without missing a beat, my first friend meanly offered that I should go on her new diet, which had done wonders for her.

This exchange hurt me and made my dinners seem small. My other friend, now hobbled by her resentment of me AND her friend’s new diet, briskly offered that she has eaten nothing but beets for four years and was down twenty pounds. I snidely assured her that I hardly noticed the red stains around her mouth.
I paid and left, feeling reasonably childish.

Feeling unsettled and wounded that my winning strategy on this diversity riddle was not at hand, I asked my friend P., who is incapable of being mean, what I was missing here.
She softly explained that “diversity” meant conceding to people’s differences without interfering or adding pressure for them to change.
“So, the aim is to keep people different?” I quizzed her, now crestfallen.
” “Why yes,” she said, “because different is better.” Nailing it like a edict on a tree.
Well, knock me over with a feather!

Then I remembered a line I never really could figure out until this moment, “Let no man’s light be so bright that it casts a shadow on another man’s day.”
I have gone back to the market the last couple of weeks looking for the “beet” woman to apologize for what I said, hoping she was still recognizable after all the hard soap scrubbing she indeed has endured because of me.
Fortunately, the people I had invited to dinner called and canceled. Out of respect, we never rescheduled.

No photo description available.

Not Working in Pittsburgh

I never saw my father work. He processed checks all night, by hand, at Mellon Bank in Pittsburgh. Occasionally he would impress me by bringing home canceled checks from someone else’s account to show me the big number on it.
My mother was a manicurist in a hotel. She worked all day. At night she would do my nails. It is why my wife works, and I do not.

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