I grew up,
upside down in a place
where numbers
reigned supreme.

Who are you?
I grabbled for words
and they responded
quantify little girl

Well okay : 16, 27 inches,
a 95 percent,
45 miles per hour,
in the 5 signs of a zip code

I never felt as if my sequence
meant anything really,
what about volume?
Measure up or move on they insisted

As the people paced
back & forth, palms open,
putting their digits on display,
I counted the number of empty faces.

Their pockets are blooming green,
Their houses, the envy of the Jones,
& yet they hide 10 something-odd pills
in the back of a medicine cabinet to hypnotize

Now, they don’t yet know there is no
divine ratio for satisfaction
and the number that matters most
is the one they’ll put on your grave