The Joy of Shopping
We’ve all made that mistake,
waiting by the bar
for happiness to stumble in
and open his wallet.
But it never happens.
So we learn to buy it,
nursing those seconds
when options hang
like garments arranged
on a black wire rack.
On Losing Out on Your Favorite Right Fielder in the Fantasy Draft
Discipline told you
not to touch him
until round five.
Do your research.
Estimate values.
Don’t let affection
color your plans.
But some dumb fool
preempted you
and swept him up
with a third-round pick.
He totally overspent.
Keep telling yourself that.
Managerial Accounting
Through a slit in the fronds
the spotted cat slinks,
tense, into the sunshine.
Low to the ground
its belly almost
brushing the grass,
the whole of its weight
hangs from its haunches.
Across the clearing,
a nervous band of accountants
begins to cluck and crane
their heads about
but as yet
remains in place,
the threat level
not yet high enough
to trigger the instinct of flight.
The cat’s track carves
a circular path
through the sun.
A swale in the ground
screens its movement.
Only its green eyes and sharp ears
rise above the crest.
It observes the herd.
A middle-aged accountant
with horn rims and a paunch,
someone just below
the upper echelon
of the pack hierarchy
keeps an eye on the beast
while pecking numbers
into an iphone. Behind him,
the herd grazes on fresh tax forms.
About the poet:
Andrew Higgins’ poetry has appeared in several places, including The New York Quarterly, Footwork: The Paterson Literary Review, The Portland Review, and Chronogram. I currently teach English at SUNY New Paltz.
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