Sunday, September 21, 2025

poem

 New Math

Two and two was always four

It still is but not the way 

It used to be.

You’re not allowed to use your fingers

Anymore. The kids are drawing flow

Charts that branch down the length

Of the white paper 

Like a hopscotch grid.

At the bottom is the number 4

Sitting there innocently

Like a baby dragon.  

How did you get here? I ask

Whatever happened to two cats

And two dogs who join together

In a big shared box 

Without the drama or tragedy?

But four is more than that, they say.

It’s a square.  A doorframe.  Legs of a table.  

Time makes it four dimensions.

One and three together is four

Too— you just needed me to get there.

But what I gave to complete your sum

Was all I had and now I’m zero

Which can always be added to four

And added to four

And added to four.

But why bother?

It adds nothing.

I’ve been reduced to a numerical sentence 

That happens to be true.

As long as I’m nothing 

I can give as much as I want.

At some point I expect 

To get a different answer. 


9/21/25

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