The First Time I Met Algebra

my first line of defence was to attack it
with anagrams; but grab ale, a garble, even
bare gal were not enough to cure the trauma.

My former fear was long division-
those Babel-towering numerals spoke
no language that I knew: I was number dumb.

My mathematics were derisory, my thematic
was prosody. No rosy future beckoned me
from the thorny bush of numeracy.

Algorithms gave me the blues.
Quadratics ruled the roots in schools.
Fractions made me fractious.

I was top of the form in despondency
until a classmate reminded me that
x and y are the last two letters of sexy.

So I wrote a sexy poem for her
about how an x wanted to get a y
between satin sheets of parentheses

but I received the same rejection as
my maths exam submission –
were you born stupid, or do you practice?

On my way home from school I noticed
a woman weeping by the railway station.
No need to guess. I knew: my maths teacher.