I’m twenty-five shrinking to a fraction of my age.
I can feel pie-charts of different shades of pink blooming on my cheeks
as you do simple math and size me up and I bet
You’re thinking of what your one and my one can do together.
I know this because I am too but then I think,
Maybe we don’t have the same numbers
which means we’ll have different answers.
There are too many equations bouncing around inside my head;
I’m trying to work out a formula when you don’t even know what algebra is.
There will be two weeks of class and then a mid-term
but there is no final exam for this sort of thing.
You could ace every paper and then walk out because you’re bored or it’s too easy.
It’s funny because
my head is filled with all these numbers:
and it’s heavy and nervous from all these calculations but
I’m calm when we have juvenile staring contests.
That’s when I can’t hide behind numbers.