A Poem (Pie and Pi)


A math class I once took did pique all my interest

(These were the days before teachers had pinterest)

When I found out that three, and a point, and fourteen

Made something called pie, but not like it seemed.

See, the pie was a number, a valued time saver

Not a plate that you’d pass after turkey and graver.

“You mean to tell me,” I shouted from back

“That pie is a number from our textbook ’bout math?”

The teacher replied “you finally caught on, it’s not just a dream!”

“Now stop asking questions ’bout pie and whip cream!”

And that day I found, perhaps more than before,

That pie is delicious… and three-point-one-four.