FUNNY NUMBERS

In the good old days before the Internet, mass marketing of poetry, and the need for every poem to appear in a book, poets used snail mail to circulate new poems to a small circle of friends—or maybe just to one friend. To my delight, I received a poem from Chris O’Carroll, the enormously entertaining poet and stand-up performer, that made me laugh. A deftly turned Shakespearean sonnet, the poem glows with the kind of irony I love.

In that respect, I am unlike Charles Olson. Asked about whether irony belonged in poetry, Olson famously is said to have answered, “I don't get the ‘iron’ in it.” 

I’m pleased that Chris has given me permission to share his poem with you.

Chris O'Carroll

Another Grandchild’s Birthday

How old you used to be, I used to know,

But you tell me new numbers every year,

And they all blur into a nonstop flow

That drifts in one and out the other ear.

So if I’m off by one year or sixteen,

Cut me some slack and blow the candles out.

Don’t sweat the details, you know what I mean.

Arithmetic’s not what it’s all about.

I wish you joy this day and many more,

But I can’t be some by-the-numbers freak.

What are you now, four?  Fourteen?  Twenty-four?

Don’t tell me.  I’ll forget it by next week.

How many years exactly since your birth?

Grandkids are way more trouble than they’re worth.