Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and music journalist. His works have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and one was named “A Notable Online Story” by StorySouth’s Million Writers Award panel. He took part in The Frost Place’s conference on teaching poetry. Recent poems are published or forthcoming in The Compass Rose, The Fine Line, Front Porch Review, Kitchen, The Single Hound, Manor House Quarterly, The Ghazal Page, Corium Magazine, Petrichor Review, Forty Ounce Bachelors,The Whistling Fire, Xenith, The Newtowner, Red Poppy Review, Prompt Literary Journal, Sparkbright Magazine, Midwest Literary Magazine, The Legendary, Prompt Literary Magazine, and StepAway Magazine.
The perplexed mathematician
is mired in theories, his nights an array
of hypotheses and proofs. He seeks
to rise above this base, aspires to be
more than mean, far beyond average.
Like any other, he wants constants,
a congruent way to ascertain
the difference between two points
or more, a way to translate the graph
into reality, sums as solutions.
His expression belies past inequalities,
playing distant hypotenuse in that
love triangle of yore, protractors as weapons,
bisecting what he had come to believe,
whole numbers once happy as pi
with love’s linear and exponential powers.
Now as he approaches his own midpoint,
dreams of that world of Fibonacci sequences
have faded into some emotional quadratic equation.
With a greatest common factor of zero,
his life lacks logic, a plane extending off the axis,
with tangential points unable to be plotted.
There’s no quotient for this quotidian existence
and he looks toward a heavenly vertex, wondering
which in fact is his guardian angle. Acute seems
far too precious, and right seems so very wrong.
The epiphany lies somewhere between the sum
degrees of complementary and supplementary:
his is obtuse. The angle controls him, lonely as
any prime and seeking adequate expression,
yet he is slow to fathom how the factors
of his long division might never add up at all.