The square root of 35 is lovesick,

unless you divide it

by a husband and child.

Multiplied by itself,

the answer is the same.

You can’t divide it by three either,

you just get fractions,

and fractions are messy to carry around in your pocket,

heavier than change.

The square root of me is you

minus seven.

The square root of you

runs off with your secretary.

You can see the problem with this equation:

me at 35 and lovesick.

you in Tahiti with your secretary.

By the time you factor in lost wages,

Prozac, hours at the therapist,

we’re well into negative numbers.

Multiply me by one meditation retreat.

Take it to the power of three.

Reduce you by a bad hair day,

too many calls to voice mail,

a factor of 26.

Ante up suspicion and pay the dealer.

This is a bad math problem

and a poor system for Vegas.

The square root of 35 is lovesick.

Divide me by champagne and flowers,

and we go into infinite neutral numbers.

Prime numbers.

Make me a prime number.

Add anything to make me prime:

weight, confidence, hair color, fertilizer.

Then I cannot be divided

Then I can only multiply and multiply.

*© Deborah Edler Brown*

Much thanks to David Frison for the image!

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Ruth Light

said:mmm…lovely!!

Ruth

Deborah Edler Brown

said:Thank you! 🙂

Monica Salinas

said:I absolutely LOVE this poem!!!!

Deborah Edler Brown

said:Thank you, Monica! So happy to hear it! 🙂

David Soop Frison

said:Like all of your “work”, I love it!

Deborah Edler Brown

said:Thanks, Soop! And thanks for the great help. 🙂

garybear9

said:I like

tsitser

said:Amazing poem, Deborah! Beautifully crafted, affecting and insightful!

Deborah Edler Brown

said:Thank you, Tara! So happy it touched you!