My moisture content’s figured out;
They know my breathing rate,
How many hairs I have, about,
My stride, my pulse, my weight.
They’ve nosed into the soap I use,
The sort of books I read ,
What kinds of meats that I refuse,
Which stimulants I need.
They know what makes me fast or slow;
They’ve my corpuscles counted;
They’re sure which hurdles lay me low,
And which I have surmounted.
They’ve figured out how long that I
Shall decorate this earth;
They’ve gauged for junk, if I should die,
Exactly what I’m worth.
Yet, charted, indexed, analyzed,
For all the world depictable,
I’ve that last word so dearly prized,
By staying unpredictable.
by Ray Romine Friday, August 11, 1950
