Poem by a friend

Unearthed this older poem by my friend Marshall Warfield. Was thinking of him today. He's in Washington, D.C. with his bride-to-be.

"How to Balance Your Check Book"
by Marshall Warfield

Sometimes the only solution to
that fucking checkbook lies in
the bottom of the Vodka bottle.

So start there. If you're still
a few dollars off, move on to dry gin,
which for me, goes down like broken
dusty, cinder blocks. You'll work harder.

On your way to the one's column,
(the ten's column came out okay)
the gin will come up in little chunks
of anguish. Go to the bathroom.
Aim for the toilet because cleaning
the floor is another chore
and the checkbook is enough.


The ones are off by only a dollar now,
so go to a party for some change -
not that any of this makes sense.
Talk with a woman (or man), discover

that they are a business major or high
finance executive. Fall in love with
the idea of a balanced checkbook
tucked into their tight back pocket.

Smell the fragrance from behind their ear.
Pretend the party is too loud and this is
the only way they can hear you. Take them
home with you.

Somehow, that step just happens. Trust me.
Before they tuck you in, point
to the checkbook on the desk.

Let them smile at you. That night dream
of such wonderful goosestepping, order.
March down all the New York highways
and bridges of Robert Moses.

In the morning, you'll find it all works out.