The Calculator
The Calculator
He wears one of those three-piece suits
You find hanging at Goodwill,
The vest inside the coat.
Tonight it’s the maroon one.
But always the same white shoes
He keeps clean
Even when he isn’t.
He’s writing a memoir on his calculator.
You know the kind.
Texas Instruments.
Powered by sunlight.
Each series of numbers is a scene.
846102473309 is the time
His dad took his belt off
And made him whip his mother with it
And she crying and whispering
For him to whip her harder
So it would be over sooner.
224701228398 is the time
He woke up in Cleveland
With no memory
Of traveling to Cleveland.
563893900453 is the time
The nurse was so kind to him
Because, she told him,
He reminded her of her son.
To write a new scene means
He must erase the old one.
So it’s one memory at a time
So long as the sun shines.
Beautiful.