(no subject)
Grade school arithmetic
Skataling through the grassland,
my five legged antelope hops
one and a quarter times as fast-
forgetting that Mrs. Murphy says,
"Antelope don't have five legs
Jimmy, you should erase one
so he doesn't fall down." On
the second day of first grade
I was already singled out
a fifth leg, scrambling to keep
rhythm in the forefront, putting
eagles with three wings next
to an American flag, seventeen
five eyed cats in alleys filled
with double nosed rats on their
last leg. Badgers, the kid next to
me has drawn rabbits and rabbit
holes, each rabbit with four paws
and two ears, running swiftly from
badgers with black and white stripes
running down their backs. He doesn't
know that my twenty-eight ten
eyed squirrels have long walrus
teeth and eighty-two hind legs to make
his badgers fear for their lives.
His rabbits have no chance.
I tell my mom I see fishes
slithering into asps with rattles,
on humongous hind legs waiting
to discover the rhinocerous they
belong to. Dogs on three leashes
try three times as hard to run after
the seven winged pigeons,
smell three times as well
as the orangutan with only one armpit,
and eat half as neatly as five gizzard
buzzards. It isn't fair that father gets
a four-legged puppy for my birthday.
I go to my room and cry ninety-twelve
tears, ripping fingers from my gloves
and praying to thirteen gods that
someone would hear with their eighteen
ears. He never listens. I know I asked for
the five-legged variety every time
he asked me twice, and mother just won't
back me up more than once.
So in class I draw floppy eared
cockroaches feeding on leftover
nine eyed olive pizza, covered with
two-tailed anchovies and five udder
mozzarella. Mrs. Murphy says there's
no difference between one udder cheese
and five, but I tell her it's important anyhow-
because if five udders can make a cheese
then my six fingers can draw an antelope,
skataling through the grassland
one and one quarter times
as fast.
Skataling through the grassland,
my five legged antelope hops
one and a quarter times as fast-
forgetting that Mrs. Murphy says,
"Antelope don't have five legs
Jimmy, you should erase one
so he doesn't fall down." On
the second day of first grade
I was already singled out
a fifth leg, scrambling to keep
rhythm in the forefront, putting
eagles with three wings next
to an American flag, seventeen
five eyed cats in alleys filled
with double nosed rats on their
last leg. Badgers, the kid next to
me has drawn rabbits and rabbit
holes, each rabbit with four paws
and two ears, running swiftly from
badgers with black and white stripes
running down their backs. He doesn't
know that my twenty-eight ten
eyed squirrels have long walrus
teeth and eighty-two hind legs to make
his badgers fear for their lives.
His rabbits have no chance.
I tell my mom I see fishes
slithering into asps with rattles,
on humongous hind legs waiting
to discover the rhinocerous they
belong to. Dogs on three leashes
try three times as hard to run after
the seven winged pigeons,
smell three times as well
as the orangutan with only one armpit,
and eat half as neatly as five gizzard
buzzards. It isn't fair that father gets
a four-legged puppy for my birthday.
I go to my room and cry ninety-twelve
tears, ripping fingers from my gloves
and praying to thirteen gods that
someone would hear with their eighteen
ears. He never listens. I know I asked for
the five-legged variety every time
he asked me twice, and mother just won't
back me up more than once.
So in class I draw floppy eared
cockroaches feeding on leftover
nine eyed olive pizza, covered with
two-tailed anchovies and five udder
mozzarella. Mrs. Murphy says there's
no difference between one udder cheese
and five, but I tell her it's important anyhow-
because if five udders can make a cheese
then my six fingers can draw an antelope,
skataling through the grassland
one and one quarter times
as fast.