A mathematically specious phrase intended to convey that something is raised to a 
very high level (as in "to the nth degree"), where "n" is assumed to be a relatively 
high number even though by definition it is unspecified and may be large or small.
We say we’re testing the limits
but if we’re honest
we’ve already scaled them in our heads
and they’re not nearly as Himalayan
as we like to let on—
otherwise we’d have selected
let’s say, the 3rd degree, 
which would challenge at least
what little mettle’s left in us
in this time of lowered expectations
for those who mangle math, 
as well as the rest of mankind.
 
Truth is, in the meager math I learned,
the nth can be any degree
I might choose to solve for,
though I know from a close look
at those strange Celtic languages,
unless you have a vowel
it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference 
between nth and nthng—
though the teacher 
insists there’s no such thing as nothing
when I’m called on
and that’s all I have to offer.
 
You’re exactly why God invented zero,
she tells my silence, much to my shame—
and the delight of others who sit by 
with a relieved sigh, basking in the joy
of owning a name 
that hasn’t yet been called.

Two trains leave Whoville and Anytown at noon 
and the teacher tells us to figure when they’ll meet,
not to mention if the bodies will be laid aside the tracks,
or they’ll be carted off in refrigerated trucks—
so much for the beauty and synergy of math. 
 
Then, soon as we realize it’s not us on a train 
bound for oblivion, it’s only our canned goods lined up
on the patio table to be scrubbed and bleached,
and we watch as the labels fade in the warm spring sun.
 
After a while we can’t tell the garbanzos from the pigeon peas. 
Yes, we hoped for the taste of some future hummus,
but maybe those nasty limas could be sufficient for now—
if only this doesn’t turn out to be the rest of our lives, 
and it’s just another maddening and unscheduled stop.