September 15th, 2025
by Graham Thorpe
Sam grew up on a cattle station,
Pretty close to the heart of the nation.
Going north, turn right at Alice.
Two hundred miles the homestead stands – it is no palace.
He was home-schooled, his teacher remote.
A girl straight from college, her name Heathcote
One day she was tired.
For peace, she tried to get her students mired.
Boys and girls. You will do a sum,
Add the numbers one to a hundred. Don't look glum!
No tedious adding for Sam, he was smart instead.
He got the answer right out of his head.
Five thousand and fifty, he told Miss Heathcote.
She choked and spluttered, quite inchoate.
She thought to herself, This will fix him,
I'll show him who is dim.
She said, Add root 12 and root 27
On hearing this, Sam was in arithmetical heaven.
Five root three, Sam told his teacher,
She felt outwitted by this small, but clever creature.
To her credit, Miss Heathcote knew she needed helping
With this boy and his mathematical skelping.
Who on Earth could come to her aid?
A professor of maths from Adelaide?
One was contacted, and she agreed.
She worked out a plan so Sam could succeed.
The prof. took Sam under her wing
And soon his maths began to sing.
Together they worked on integration,
Vector space in the fifth dimension.
The divergence theorem of Gauss,
So simple, so neat, Sam thought it awesomely grouse.
Beauty and elegance became the allure.
Sam was obsessed with only the pure.
Nothing applied would sully his soul.
Mathematical greatness became his goal.
He eschewed expositor and critic.
They are second-rate hacks, just not the ticket.
Then one day his dad said, Sam, we have a hitch.
Our drinking water's murky, dark as bloody pitch.
Sam thought for a second, and said, Let's filter it through a bed of sand,
An engineering solution, elegant and grand.
Sam's dad said, How big will this filter be?
Sam's response: No worries, leave it to me.
He rummaged for butcher's paper with alacrity.
Pencil in hand, he calculated the water's velocity.
Let's assume the bed is two-dimensional.
That's really quite conventional.
Laplace's equation must be solved. No computers permitted.
Hunched over butcher's paper, Sam was deeply committed.
At last the answers emerged. The size of a pipe, and that of a pump.
Sam and his father with joy did jump.
Sam had forsaken his stark, barren purity,
But he'd gained in the process, great maturity.
Note: skelping: To perform or accomplish in a brisk and lively fashion.
About the Poet
Graham Thorpe resides in Yarra Glen, Victoria, Australia.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Graham Thorpe's Artist Page.
This poem is also featured in Comet #6,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Australia Poetry Magazine:
In Recognition
by Cheryl Vaughan
Australia Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
- This website and all contents ©Kirk Ramdath and specified artists.
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