Yeah, dad, I love Math class
cos something is always adding up there

like just the other day
the teacher’s plants at the window
started growing square roots
The teacher reckons that’s cos
“the windows are squares, if you notice” -
but I reckon it’s cos
we’ve mostly got squares in class

And the teacher when she thinks someone
has done something good, she says:
“Oh, you are an angle!”
and when she’s cross she goes:
“I’ve told you n times”
or “I’ve told you n+ 4 times”

Yeah, we learn lots of stuff in Math class
like next week we going to learn
about Algeria;
but I’m not sure if my Math teacher is OK
in the head though
cos one day she tells us
3+2 = 5
and another day she insists
4+1= 5
(is that what you mean
when you say mum can never make up her mind?)
And she tells me not to use my tables
and she scolds me then when I do my division
on the floor

But I’ll say one thing about her though -
she’s so passionate about Math
my teacher is
she carries around a picture
in her wallet
of a big plus sign
with a guy nailed to it

got myself a donkey yesterday
and tethered it out there in the yard;
but when I looked out the window
I noticed
it looked glum, moody and testy
so I went out to see what I could do
I tickled my donkey
and he cackled and laughed a lot
and he hee-hawed aloud -
but yeah, you can bet your ****
I got the bigger kick out of it

Old Ray gets up this morning
feeling a little bit let-me- fix-the-world
so he turns to his wife Old Mary
who’s reading the news in her iPad
and he resurrects his suspicion
she’s gone deaf recently

So he stands to her right and calls out her name
No answer
So he stands to her left and calls out her name
No answer
So he goes behind her and shouts out her name
and Mary, without looking up, says calmly:
“For the third and last time, Ray -
what do you want?”

And Ray
who has heard no answer thrice
thinks to himself:
*Poor Old Mary,
after all these years,
she’s indeed lost her hearing

There once was a little artist who did use her paintbrush well,
she took it everywhere with her, making magic, speaking spells.
When the darkness would overcome, with twinkles twinkling bright
she would settle down and watch, waiting for the fright.
And when her fiendish friend arrived she didn't scramble nor did she scream,
Instead she took her brush in her palm with it, creating a screen.
A small blanket to cover her small eyes while her dark antagonist remained
would shield her from the fright of mystery, the suffering from pain.
And as the girl grew her skill only increased-
The things she could paint were better than any other famed artist.
Everyday she walked on the same crooked, cracked road
In  hopes of meeting someone friendly, to not be alone.
And everyday that dream did come in many shapes and forms,
but in every dream she took her brush and painted for herself a storm.
Her brush created terrible nightmares those which are meant to scare,
but she saw them and felt comfort, covering what was bare.
It wasn't till one day that she questioned her sacred art
when a faraway figure emerged and offered her his heart.
She cowered and questioned and felt fear anew
What was the practiced painter to do?
Well she looked at her brush, lifting it to her friend,
and wished she didn't have to do what she had done time and time again.
She turned her brush around and closed her small, small eyes,
and painted lines on herself, those meant to disguise.
She wrapped herself in her blanket, sewn from terrible storms
and watched from behind her brush, wondering why she made herself alone.