It is a bright Sunday morning in spring. Most of the Boulderites are enjoying the outdoors. The curious sunbeams peek through the kitchen window to greet a slim girl with curly hair. Her name is Geeta Kulkarni. She is busily working on her dishes.
I swear by my mother's milk: I swear in the name of metals and minerals, in the name of coffee and coco, in the name of land and labor, that an emergency-poem like this one needs ample prose and even crude mathematical proofs.