Professor Fanning once told me to keep math out of poetry, “just forget the numbers.” A few weeks ago, though, I sat through an entire trig class where I understood nada. It was the first time an entire hour went by and I understood NADA. Of course, that inspired me to compose a poem.
There I sat in trigonometry class,
strings of question marks growing
out of my ears, like roots gone wild;
the teacher’s Charlie Brown phonics
incapable and unwilling
to find a home in my mind.
This morning I wrote another one about the long hours I spend doing homework while I’d much rather sit down with The Metamorphoses of Ovid.
The Calculator Talks
Tick tick tick clack pat
Tick tick clack pat tick.
MathXL flashes a red box and explains what I already know.
The example provides little comfort,
as though the program has given up
on me. They want me to leave as much as I want to read.
Clack pat tick tick tick.
Well done! One problem completed after ten minutes.
Eleven problems to go.
I got eleven problems,
and the stories for my English class isn’t one.
Click tick tick clack pat.
My calculator laughs.