Jerome A. White
August 2013

The sweet young thing, she gazed my way
And squealed with such elation
For she’s the type to spot a man
And plan his transformation

I thought myself a pleasant catch
My functions, they’re quite nice
She felt they needed sprucing up
‘Cuz “basic” won’t suffice

She slipped an addend by my input
To make me less uptight
My body loosened up a bit
Shifting left and right

She slyly offered half a smile
I still felt tightly wound
She summed a constant with my output
So I hopped up and down

A scalar plopped aside my input
She laughed, it was her pleasure
To watch my figure fluctuate
In horizontal measure

A scalar dropped beside my output
Despite my apprehension
I stretched and shrunk compliantly
In vertical dimension

My in- and output she negated
Before I could object
Side to side, top to bottom
It caused me to reflect

At last I know how to transform
For that, I do rejoice
Yet I shall change no more for her
Unless it’s first my choice