We earn our tickets on the Poetry Bus this week by using Danabug's
prompt as the first line/phrase of a poem . . . 


Domestic Math


I am a crooked line. No doubt there is

a complex function linking me to you

that perfectly reflects my crookedness.

And that's always the trouble, isn't it?

Math leaves no room for any imperfection.

So. Given 'X' we will always find 'Y' 

defined with such precision as we choose.

I am your complex, silly, crooked X.

and all my defeX you've evaluated

so you'll come out just perfect - that's math's way.

I daren't complain 'Y won't you wash the dishes?

Y leave your dirty washing on the floor?

Y do you often fart and always snore?

Y must you shout an swear and slam the door?

Your so. So Y! I can't stand you any more.'