Some say that the presidency is the loneliest job in the world. This poem by Tony Hoagland begs to differ ...
The Loneliest Job in the World
by Tony Hoagland
As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?,
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?,
and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving
in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.
I love the phrase, "An accountant of the heart." I hope that your amatory calculator sums up all the love your heart might wish.
Have a good day and enjoy the rest of the weekend. More thoughts coming.
Bilbo
Some people all the time. Other people most of the time. Still others some of the time. Anyone else doesn't matter.
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