If you want a “u,” you strike

the “u” key, not the “i,” the “b,”

or the “c.”  None of us doubts
the design. It’s obvious to all

who lack the genius to create
an algorithm of such majesty

and simplicity. If you want

sherbet, fruit is the only flavor
whether it’s a scoop of sunset,

cloud, winter surf, or sunrise.
Everybody knows the rules,

and nobody needs to tell you

there are six and a half billion
of us, and each has only one

single soulmate. We all know
the truth. Conspicuous misery

born even in our naked numbers

moves none of us to question
the fact. It’s a rule like a ruler,

narrow, straight, stiff, wooden,
useful to measure our decline

in inches, the shuffle of our feet,

and the trim hedges of our yards.