Census Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

I awoke with sweat and tension
From a nightmare ‘bout the census
Nosy questions, not to mention
Picky points and word declensions

Tiny creatures quite invasive
Cornered me and were persuasive
Telling me facts are terrific
So I must be quite specific

Were there ghosts hid in my attic
Does my boom-box crackle static
When had I last ironed shirts
Who are Fred and Ethel Mertz?

Do I house a couch potato
Does my neighbor eat tomatoes
Were my forebears svelte or thin
Do I cha-cha on a whim?

Have my dentures lost their glue
Does my preteen pooh-poo stew?
I must mark a box called ‘other’
If I have a freckled brother

Did my mother once knit stockings
While my dad the house was hocking?
If my kin sailed with Columbus
It may cause a numbers thrombus

If I hailed from lands down undrus
Hidden tundras cold and wondrous
And my people had no name
I would lose the census game

Though those nightly little strangers
Scanned my secrets like a ranger
They assured me there’s no danger
If my home’s a yurt or manger

But if i owned manor houses
Hunting lodges, dogs and grouses
My accounts both gross and net
Would soon show up on the net

Waking, I began to wonder
Categories, details ponder
Of great surveys and statistics
Oval markings, big logistics

There may be a good solution
To the census convolution -
Toss the details, count each head
If their blood’s a shade of red.