The Balance Sheet by Geri Peterson Joseph

The Balance Sheet

An innocent transposition

was usually to blame,

a hastily written figure.

Grim general of the company books,

I would scour each ledger

for the rebel, the one errant digit.

Tonight, in this empty office,

not a pencil is needed,

not even a light.

From my desk, I watch

the city darken.

The computer hums.

Battalions of numbers

fall into place.

What cannot be balanced,

I still weigh:

You liked to hurt me.

And somewhere

on the streets below,

you are walking

that dog.

Geri Peterson Joseph lives in New York’s Finger Lakes region. Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The New Criterion, and Podium. When she isn't writing or reading, she is usually painting or walking in nature with her husband.