Eight

I can’t keep very many numbers in my head
I’ve read that a person can only keep about seven
I think it’s probably one less than that for me
Because numbers don’t really make any sense to me
Whenever I use them, I find that I’m making absurd claims
And my nervousness about numbers rivals my nervousness when I’m asked what kind of music I like
There’s only one answer
I can’t remember
I have heard music
As I’ve seen numbers
But it doesn’t add up afterwards or before
And while music can happen in the moment
Numbers are always about a little before or long after
I’m certainly no forecaster
Neither a historian
Articulating dates
And numbers lost in the last battle
Or the number of degrees
That a ship will keel to the left
When it’s making a turn into the wind
It’s not who I am to engineer such things
I go by feel
And so my ships sink when they are too big
And I sink into the muck when the numbers come
To eat me alive
For all eight meals of the day