Teen Ink

   I ponder equations

as Solitaire beckons:

crossed legs, bad posture, squinting,

I examine my seven piles.



Too systematical, you said.

Please, I ask, relieve my mind

from equations and probabilities:

the number of complements are unproportionate,

it is Friday with 7/13 chance of rain,

48% of your wardrobe is red (too bright),

only 1 in 2 marriages are completely solved

making 2.5 children -

why be positive, I ask.

Just play Go Fish, you said.

I refuse.



Alone, I sit and equate

and re-examine the Solitaire game.

Unfortunately, it's too late to reshuffle.

It's too late to calculate the contrast in our lives -

I would be blind

in your world of intangible red

and get lost

in a land of squiggles.



I'm sorry, really.