Tsk, tsk, tsk–
He really has a thing for numbers,
I tell you.
his weight and body mass index, length and width;
he eavesdrops his heart rate.
He squeezes ’til he sneezes
in dire attempt
to put his blood on a scale.
He even segregates white to red,
as if they’re Russia and U.S.
in conflict with one another.
He counts calories and sugar
without using spoon nor cups,
like as if FDA requires his nutritional label.
So what’s next, man? Man, oh man!
Perhaps he’s torn between pores and hairs–and which one
poses as his greatest, and most meaningful numerical challenge.
they travel in a steady phase.
Although the long seems more agile than the shorter,
It never matters
if they overlap one another.
Hence, even if the sun is shining bright;
Notwithstanding if the moon is too pale,
in track they stay
always working night and day.
He can use this
to his advantage.
But amid knowledge and skills;
Given his vigor and technology,
Man can’t keep up with time
the hands of clock are ever empty;
but Man always carry more than his hands can take . . .
. . . ever ensuring
he has everything
and nothing to worry,
he carries them all
no matter how trivial and crazy.
Note that this is not a mystery story
of a clock always up and too early;
but a classic on gravity
of a man ever late