"Dad, can you Google a sum for me?"
the protagonist cries
and an echo of classrooms
and chalk dust
and taste of sour milk
grab my senses.
I remember the grey days stretch
as we carefully drew out three quarters
of an upturned box placed
carefully over a number
too big to count on our fingers.
Then we pulled each digit apart
like legs from a spider
until the monster was tamed
(or break-time arrived).
I pretend to use the Internet
and explain.
The wisdom did not directly come from me
and it pacifies.
Later:
"...and for frequency tables
the teacher tells us to use calculators."
she concludes, incredulous
there was ever any other way.
And I am as ancient in her eyes
as Henry Briggs was to me at her age.