I’m running out of money,
but I’ve still got some time
and only just one question
…can you lend me a dime
My dollars spent on something
that quarters can’t divide
my nickels for what’s come and gone
…can you lend me a dime
Tomorrow comes as landlord,
whose lease you can’t cosign
my place reserved but not in ink
…can you lend me a dime
My tenancy is in arrears,
foreclosing on my mind
last chance to stay evictions sway
…can you lend me a dime
(Dreamsleep: January, 2022)
Dear strong, mysterious Mr. Richter,
I have adored you all semester.
It's all about the way you say "cosign"
and the command you give to busy equations.
You keep those numbers all in line,
as if any one could give dissuasions.
With exponent passion you draw me in,
a mathematician first, then a teacher.
Each number's a friend, a neighbor, a kin.
Each student is a math-munching creature.
You couple denominators, strong and alike,
a prismic marriage of commonality,
then suddenly you divide them like
a Shakespearean tragedy.
Then you flip-flop like common weather,
and in a calm numerical tangent,
you bring those digits back together
like a quadrilateral sonnet.
Your rhombus eyes, like tigers animate
when you say the word "perpendicular."
Could you say you'd ask me for a date,
anywhere logarithmic, but I'm not particular.
Take me away on a coordinate plane,
parallel to a median integer
with stem-and-leaf plot as the terrain,
and a commutative property perimeter.
I can offer admiration and a laugh,
just teach me how to use a protractor.
Of all the variables on a bar graph,
we are the greatest common factor.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.