Figuring

I got seven today, yesterday I got three and the day before it was five.
I think it was five, or maybe it was two. It was two, for sure.

A guy I know married a chick with a face like a saint she had fourteen
in one day. Fourteen! And then get this she had seventeen the next and

thirty-one three days later. But now she manages one or two a day.
They divorced.

My uncle would get seven every day for nearly all his adult life,
but that was forty years ago. He’s dead. Died of cancer of the brain.

My brother usually does good, ten or eleven. Like everyone else
he has his bad days: one or two.

I pray sometimes. How phosphorescent it would be if I could get
seventy-seven in two days or one hundred and ten over three days.

But I know it won’t happen. It just won’t.
I don’t remember what my mother got.

I know my father never got much
even on the best day of his life.

—Jon Cone