The accountant’s daughter.

monica byrne


Today is my parents’ wedding anniversary. Here is a poem my Dad wrote for my Mom, shortly after she began to lose her sight from radiation treatments.


by Donald E. Byrne Jr.

You tell me face to face you have figured out
where your missing money was. I know how proud
you feel: the accountant’s daughter, almost blind,
who still can reconcile a bottom line.

But your eyes align uneven on my face.
The blind left slips slightly down to a place
on my cheek. The right one seeks my eyes, but finds
only where they were, inferred from the outline

it sees of my head. You will never see again
in my eyes what my eyes see in you. Still, I can
see your soul in those darker windows, that see
by memory what they love, and reconcile me,

too, like a sum…

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J.T. Carlton: The Good Life

Drinkers with Writing Problems

My grandfather,
When he comes over
For Christmas, or birthdays,
Thanksgiving, whatever,
He always tells us to turn off
The damn television.
Get off the couch.
Go outside.
Talk to another human being,
For chrissakes.
Don’t get me wrong,
I get it. I really do.
But then, he’s never seen
A single episode.
So he doesn’t really know
What the fuck he’s talking about,
Does he?
He hasn’t experienced it.
He’s not addicted.
It’s really notjustTV.
It’s a living, breathing thing
It’s part of the family.
These characters,
They’re all part of me.
It’s better than life.
Better than the real world.
Hell, they even have
A show about that,
So you don’t have to
Leave anything to chance.
You just press a button,
Turn on a screen,
A mirror to another world,
And away you go,
Zipping, Zooming,
Ears drooling, eyes bleeding,
Hypnotized, overdosing

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