Bad news:
things add up.
Try to separate them,
subtract the numbers—
can’t be done. You can’t undo
what you do,
what you’ve done,
what’s been done to you.
Your first kiss. Double digit
birthday. Your second third
fourth kiss, quickly. Your
first drink, which
is your last drink, swear.
Your father’s first death. Your second drink,
which is not your last drink.
Your first ****, your
second third fourth ****, quickly.
Your father’s second third
fourth death,
your first love’s
pity, your teachers’ pity, your
best friends’ pity,
your father’s final death,
and a variable
in the equation, always
needing solving: your hunger.

But, hey.
Good news, too:
things add up.

It all amounts to something
useful, usable, you—
doesn’t it?

Doesn’t it?