Six Hundred

I estimate six hundred, more or less,
Getting or spending. Calculate by powers,
Dividing it by sixty times the hours
You took to multiply it. It's a mess,
But would you rather be stuck playing chess
With some old geezer counting sky-borne flowers?
Give me some cheese, a tray of whiskey sours,
And fifteen dollars, and I'll make a guess.

I'd rather be a pagan suckled in
A creed outworn than have to figure out
The final numbers, like a racetrack tout,
By counting on my fingers. It's a sin,
Throwing my workbooks in the garbage bin,
And intimating Wordsworth wouldn't pout.