Numbers

— David Eisbach

Arthritis has dragged me into crisis.
Every morning and evening is when
I perform a row of exercises;
Each one extends to the count of ten.

I thought counting in foreign numbers
Would brighten a boring chore.
Fourteen languages my head encumbers,
Only up to ten, no less no more.

All things have a number; it’s clear to me.
The West says dwa, tu, du, dos stand for two.
Out East, song, dull, er, pi, nee all mean three.
I count steps, birds and cars within my view.

I worry that my counting is a curse.
It’s not getting better; I fear it’s worse.

{Exit stage left, Heading back to my seat-counting people in the first row}

{In Turkish} bir, iki, uc, dort bes alti, yedi, sekiz, dokuz, on.

 

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