BY JIM TILLEY
With a Mozart concerto in the background
and little to do as I waited for the next available associate
to be with me shortly, I began to comprehend
how one infinity can be larger than another,
not in the sense of the mathematician
who can prove that rational numbers are countable
and real numbers are not, but my patience,
which I am continually thanked for,
the next available associate undoubtedly
unaware of my infinite fascination with Mona Lisa’s
excised eye staring upside down
from the minute hand, obliterating the smile at half past
the hour, according to the artisanal timepiece
my wife brought back from Florence last year.
A larger infinity is what my neighbor’s cow
exhibits every day lying near the split-rail fence,
alone with her thoughts as the cars speed by.
Today, she was watching the sky clear
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Jim Tilley earned a doctorate in Physics from Harvard University. He retired in 2001 after a 25-year career in insurance and investment banking. He has won numerous prizes for his papers in actuarial science, finance, and investments, and recieved the 2008 Founder’s Award from the International Insurance Society for his pioneering work in asset-liability managment. His poems have been published in Southen Poetry Review, Atlanta Review, Chattahooche Review, New Delta Review, Nimrod, Rattle, Florida Review, and other journals. He resides with his wife in Bedford Corners, New York.
What a beautiful scene! I love the picture of a cow chewing her cud and waiting for absolutely nothing to happen. Thanks, Jim.
A wonderful poem, certainly describes a lot about the poet!
Thank you both, Ingrid and Deborah, for your lovely comments. I wonder why, with (almost) all the digital storage space in the world, only the first two of ten stanzas appear. Doesn’t exactly give the reader more than a taste of the whole poem. But I’m glad you found the taste to your liking.