the accountant does her research
she buys a specific mix of birdseed
from a niche birdseed website on the second google search page
she sets up a bird feeder in an ideal place
according to the species Wikipedia page
she marks down in careful lettering in her notebook
the amounts eaten each day and the water consumed
and the bird dies
accountant
Poem #754
working in the dead hours of the morning
the accountant gets more done
it’s just her and the numbers
she wishes all the hours were dead hours
Poem #604
first drizzle of the season
clouds crowd the dark sky
accountant walks her neighborhood
enveloped in street lamp light
cold bites her skin pleasantly
she’s thinking of numbers
old man with cigar sits
on the edge of a red brick planter
the smell of the smoke lingers
“what kind of cigar is that?” she asks
“please don’t smoke, honey,” he responds
she takes the obtuse path around him
she frowns and goes home
her house is much too warm