Poem-A-Day: Day 27

Math is Hard, I’m Done Trying

Contagiously masquerading through
the valley of the shadow of draught,
kicking up heels,
together,
and shouting with the wave of a hat:
ten gallons,
or forty.
Shudder at the thought;
the sky’s drought
cast down like a discarded core,
apples and pears.
Pairs
have a simple meaning,
being two,
or twos of two,
which makes them four total.
Somewhere, where the pairs
are laughing under neon tubes illumination,
is a note scribbled on a napkin.
It has numbers,
sequentially mixed
side-by-side.
In the context of things
it makes sense,
but there’s no use for it.