The floor tilts

I’d punched them up, crunched factors into sums,
graphed increments, each phase of my desires,
convinced I controlled them, subdued the fires.
Then the floor tilted, felt the disc brake drums
sliding, the formulas crashed, overcome.
Feet came unhinged like unbalanced tires,
my wobbly broken legs caught in barbed wires.
A deadpan rhythm distantly drummed
called out: ‘your estimates couldn’t change her.’
Unexpected lamentations barged through:
I curse the tabulated life I’ve bled,
the long division left with no remainder,
and wince at the sad, unforeseen truth:
you can’t see her now, she’s emigrated.