A walrus, a whale, and a wildebeest
Have a few things in common to comment on:
They've never read Byron, or Shelley, or Keats,
They don't like asparagus, broccoli, or beets,
Or waiting in line to buy popsicle treats.
And that's about it,
No phenomenon.
The wildebeest, a.k.a. the gnu,
For no rhyme or reason, of course,
Has never been heard to bleat, bray, or moo,
And is in no way akin to a horse.
His main disadvantage, as he will avow,
The one he's most often upsat with:
His tail is too short for fanning his brow
Or even for swatting a gnat with.
Apocalypse kindles
relighting the fire
Malignant denominators
melt from above
Savior disdained
pontificate’s stain
Tomorrow endemic
— in nuclear love
(The New Room: March, 2024)
It's inevitable the momentum of the large headed human ego....
has finally put mankind over the brink.
There's no coming back
the clock says 1 second 'til midnight.
The earthworms have shed their glass slippers
Soon they'll be sliding underground...
their prince will not follow.
They've been tunneling and stockpiling for decades
food- ammunition-water
the{numerators}elite and their loved ones
have their inner mountain retreat...
On a smaller scale the (denominators) have followed their lead.
The remainders/the remains/: the poor who couldn't afford to stockpile
and those that could afford to but were to stubborn to listen.
Will be left scrambling above
banding and disbanding
willy-nilly
whatever the moment dictates
frantic
scrounging for rat meat
and toilet paper
during a nuclear winter
666 miles of social distancing,
Fondly remembering when it was only 6 feet
putting balm to nuclear skin
covering open wounds with papyrus.
They'll forge an eleventh commandment
then just as quickly break it.
With mankind's flesh between their teeth
they'll be begging to a God
who finally got sick of it all
and stopped listening-
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.