The Leiry Loop

One Percent

It’s just half and half, you once told me
in your usual—or was it philosophical—

I didn’t think it was polite to ask

self, whether it was seventy down
to fifty or twenty up to
eighty: the possibility exists
and therefore,

Therefore, heretofore, thus

the balance remains in boring
stability, stale—quite stale.

What if I tell you now that
you, not you, maybe you

Yes, you!

are one
of the ones from the endless ninety-nines;

the one Blaue Blume
amidst ninety-nine pink roses;
the one Annabel Lee
among ninety-nine Juliets;
the one Bad Beginning
to ninety-nine Philosopher Stones;
the one true void
in the middle of ninety-nine empty spaces;
the one walk on the railway
to the ninety-nine on the hallway;
the one hopeful despair
to slay ninety-nine hopeless hopes; and
the one number
to complete a hundred—

All of these ones compose
the one percent I took, violently

but not too violent—

saved it, I did—from the wretched
ninety-nine that threatens to
consume it, finally turning into
a full circle of the usual, the commonplace,
the dry feel of just

staying alive.

But I will not let it be,
worry not.

This I address directly to you

I would like you to stay
in my one percent, and not
venture out to the rest.

I hope it’s not just a possibility,
a half and half, a seventy-thirty, a three-quarter.

Let me see life as the ninety-nine

and the one.