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The Accounting



There are always three.  Or seven.
Sometimes five,
but then we pretend there are two too many
or two too few.
There are never two,
though we long for two more than anything.
Four and six are dreams, or mistakes.
Eight or nine are unlikely,
ten or more, impossible (except for thirteen).

We are the thing that is counted,
and also the thing that counts.
We count everything,
especially the things of no account.
See?  There are three.  Or seven.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.