Bedtime Story Problem

Alarm goes off at half past four
Which means that if I start to snore
The instant I lie down in bed
I’ll sleep X hours. In my head
I solve for X, no fuss, no strife.
That’s algebra, and that’s real life.

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Living History Her Story

Pull out your iPhone: Siri, what’s the date?
“2/24, YOUR GRANDMOTHER’S BIRTHDAY!”
How much is twice her age? “TWO HUNDRED EIGHT.”
That many years seems awfully far away,
But think about it: Someone Grandma’s age
When she was born (before the First Great War)
Debuted when most of those who strut the stage
In Hamilton were quite alive! What’s more,
The president (at least for one more week)
Was Thomas Jefferson, who yielded then
To Madison; if history you seek
In writing, ours was written by these men.
One lifetime led then to my Grandmama
Who celebrates today. I am in awe.

Boy George

George Washington was said to be
The acme of integrity,
The proof of which was, when a vandal
Chopped a cherry tree, the scandal
Never had a chance to brew
Before the culpa you-know-who:
“Father,” said young Master George,
“’Twas I who was thy orchard’s scourge!
With this, my hatchet, did I chop
That stalwart of thy cherry crop.
I could not—would not even try—
This wanton action to deny.
I prithee, ere I grow unnerved,
Pronounce my punishment, deserved!”
That punishment, of course, was that
He’d have to wear a silly hat
And wouldn’t be allowed to sit
In boats while he was wearing it.
The point? I cannot tell a lie:
I haven’t really got one. I
Just saw the date and started writing.
Wish I had a more exciting
Tale to tell. That’s how it goes
Sometimes. Oh, well. Sure, I suppose
I could point out that chopping wood
For exercise might do you good.
I also might compare/contrast
Two presidents, the first and last,
And their respective attitudes
Towards honesty…but really, dudes
And dudettes, when the cherry hits
The orchard floor, what’s left? The pits.