Folks, this is just a poem—almost all the real numbers are better than these. It has been 11 years since I last saw my daughter, but she talked to me last year, and I believe she'll contact me again.
By the Numbers
Just nineteen days before I'm fifty-one
I weigh two-forty and a bit of change,
My diastolic pressure has begun
To pass the nineties to the moderate range,
My 20/20 vision's twelve year's gone,
I used to fit in 30-30 pants,
And I can feel it after just one song
At eighty beats per minute when I dance.
My father's heart attack at fifty-nine
Seems more real now than when on the day he fell.
I take one aspirin and one glass of wine,
Then drink more whiskeys than I care to tell.
I drink to lose my lost girl's memory
As he, for years, could not remember me.
Weird thing is, this started out to be a comic poem.
Update: Thanks to graywyvern for pointing out that, in this numerical sonnet, I failed to count the feet in line 10.
9:29:52 PM 
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