Last year’s accounts, theatre programmes mistaken
travel brochures, delights of journeys not taken.
My life in paper, stored up for the reckoning,
with bills, and meetings, a future still beckoning.
Surely, by all accounts, there is more to myself,
than these silent folders, stacked up on the shelf?
But then, maybe they will all have the last laugh.
“You saved, therefore you are”, as my epitaph.
July 2020