Lucky Numbers 2, 10, 24, 65, 93

You don’t know this but we’re all ISBN’s. At birth, we’re tattooed across our asses with barcodes, ID tags, social security numbers. The only doctors allowed to perform this surgical move were trained in suits and sunglasses, were handcuffed to computer suitcases, held galas in mansions in the hills of Virginia, roamed secretly through tunnels beneath Abe Lincoln’s feet, they infiltrated every hospital, mandated staff to hand over the key cards. Don’t be alarmed. Chocolate brownies can still hold good dreams, peanuts, and marijuana. This information should not stop you, you wondered before about those seven digits printed across the tops of your pay stubs, didn’t you? And the 48906 signature on every document from your university. Yes, you see now. All along, that tattoo on your soul numbers destiny: one of the numbers stands for the birthday of your child, one for the day your parents will find cancer sinking its teeth in their osteoperostic bones, and one lists the street address of the building you will die in. The hospital’s phone number is merely a set of numbers. Ask them what they’ve done to you, and they’ll shrug their white-collar shoulders. To view this poem on my blog, visit http://wordsareaneed.blogspot.com/2014/12/lucky-numbers-2-10-24-65-93.html.