“With a large enough sample, any outrageous thing is apt to happen” 

Persi Diaconis, Frederick Mosteller, Harvard University 







You move like clockwork,

your body ticking metronomically, as if

you are the ocean to which all things return.



You are the goody-goody who finds the liberals

too freakin' lewd to bed down with. Yes, you are

a prig, all buttoned up from chin to toe, no sun,

a virgin for your groom-to-be; how could he resist

your plaid flannel nightie, fetching bun



pulled taut behind your head, your cat-eyed glasses

grannied across your face, and the lights turned out?

How could you operate, knowing fully well that you

will be set aside like fine china on a shelf, while he takes a lover

on the other side? What happens when your minute hand stops moving,

and you know you can't die in the rain [you're waterproof],

that luxury is allowed only to sailors.



I guess what I want to know is what happens 

when you need to replace your batteries (and Wal-Mart doesn't carry them)?