The Dedekind Cut

Cruelest cut of all for those of us elders who irrationally used to know

something about rational numbers but no longer can remember geometry

to get back home, Dedekind’s about partitioning philosophical arguments

into halves, the 1^st being "as I will show," the 2^nd being "as I have shown"

-- sometimes (like now) a sleazy or/and stupid writer deceptive/ dementedly

moves onto the 2^nd half without really having "shown" (proven) his point.

Triangles Reconstructed: Dad’s Last Hospitalization, Son Caught In The Middle

I always loved Father and thought he loved me

though it’s less clear it was more than toward my sib who says she felt none.

Then there’s Mom.

Sis liked her more than I did, said she’d take care when he’s gone.

Dad almost is, but that doesn’t begin to happen.

Last few years they both were my kids...

Tooth brushing then mental flossing

the bootstrapped self-made man, I paused to ask,

“Pops, how’d I get such a wrong middle name?”

“George after me would’ve been fine but in the end it was David

or what we gave you – Mom thought

Daryl had an awful nice ring.”

“With my razor-sharp personality, at first Daryl

was a millstone.” Bernard pushed back,

“Never knew nuthin’ about that.”

“Too fancy-schmancy for a kid,

Gerard worked when I strived as a poet.”

“And I planned soz your first name rhymes perfect with mine!”

Taking a crack to bring my geometrist PhD sister

in from the cold, I ad-libbed,

“Don’t you wonder if that name was already taken, if you’d marry a David?”

No response while a nurse does Poppy’s blood pressure,

Sis lobbed back, “Not much,” followed by his rapid-fire snipe,

“Listen up, don't conversate when I'm not paying attention.”

Then I faux offhandly countered Daddy,

“How’d you and Mama end up with Jayne

for Sis -- was it after Mansfield -- or someone else?”

Drawn toward and away from my sibling’s flame,

Bernard George punts, “That musta been your mother’s decision

-- I really don’t recall.”

Rolling no-nonsense punches with the lateral movement of moths

circling a lamppost, Jayne’s exasperated sigh comes clean,

“That slip pretty much sums up our unrelational unequilateral triangle.”