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.