high finance

my stock broker mindy
called me the other day
to review my portfolio.
it's at the stage now
after the ex carved
out her half, by law,
where i can envision
the double wide trailer
i might be living in
somewhere in central
florida with a dog
chained to the bumper.
she's always pleasant
when she calls, we talk
about the weather, work,
your basic friendly chit
chat that doesn't amount
to much and then she
gets down to business
and says that i'm doing
fine, i'm right on track,
but that maybe
i should make a few
adjustments, sell my
shares in coca cola
and buy up some buster
brown shoe shares, or
something along those
lines. i have no clue
and she knows that,
but plays along
as if i might. she could
suggest delorean cars,
or some shares in pan
am airlines and i'd say,
sure, why not. go for
it mindy, you're the
expert. great she says
and i hear her manicured
nails clicking against
her keyboard somewhere
in lancaster, pennsylvania
where she works. the
conversation ends with
me always saying, i just
don't want to be living
in a cardboard box
in a patch of woods
behind the liquor store
off of route one, which
always gets a big
laugh out of her. she
snorts, oh don't worry
hon, you're doing just
fine and on that note
we hang up and i go fix
myself a gin and tonic,
go out the back porch
with a fly swatter
and try not to worry.