My father had a birthday.
He just turned seventy-five.
Three quarters of one-hundred
is long to be alive.
Last night when I was sleeping,
I dreamt another Earth.
On it, Dad was sixty-three
though the same years since birth.
If there’s fire in your brain,
now it’s time to fan it.
Two riddles I have for you
about this dream planet.
How many clever fingers
do they use to bake bread?
What will be Dad’s age when he’s
three fourths of one-hundred?
