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Philosophical
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Poems for
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Copyright by
Nicholas
Gordon |
I don't know why my mind goes numb with
numbers.
A couple of months ago, in the Kittay House elevator,
I met
a man in his nineties who smiled at me.
"How many cubic feet in a
three-foot cube?"
He asked. I panicked. I should have known right
away.
"Nine," I said, knowing that had to be wrong.
"Look it up!" he
chortled. "Look it up!"
The elevator stopped. I got off. It hit
me.
"Twenty-seven!" I said. To myself. Too late.
About six weeks later, again. Same man. Same
question.
"How many cubic feet in a three-foot cube?"
Same superior
smile. I know you don't know.
Again I panicked. I didn't remember the
previous
Time. Nor did he. Is Alzheimer's catching?
"Nine," I said
again, knowing again
It was wrong. And then, again, after
The
elevator doors had closed: "Twenty-seven!"
I imagined the old man
chortling in his victory
Over ignorance. My ignorance.
What is it about numbers that makes my
mind
Go numb? Maybe I don't like questions with answers
That make me
look stupid. Smug answers,
Chortling in their victories. Right
answers,
Exposing me naked to the heehawing rain.
Answers to
questions I haven't asked.
Easier not to know even where to
begin.
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