[untitled poem by Jonathan Cloud]
They say my brain's configurations
Are somehow not quite right:
I don't match no standard deviations,
And the mean's nowhere in sight.
My I.Q. is ninety-four,
I've no aptitudes at all,
If I weren't so dumb I'd have the brains
To feel just two feet tall.
The percentile mark is ten, no more,
This means, as you can simply see,
That from a hundred average boors
Ninety are not so dumb as me.
If this is true I've got a question,
And I don't ask it from perversity,
Tell me, masters: what the hell
Am I - so dumb-doing at University?