Come In Number Two.

I wouldn’t have name, I’d have a number,

Then I’d fit right in the scheme,

No worry about misspelling then,

You know exactly what I mean.

I’d have it tattooed on my front,

And even on my head,

I could be seen from drones above,

And cameras from straight ahead.

I could leave my phone at home,

They would still know where I’d be.

On my way to the cinema,

Or even out to sea.

Personality wouldn’t matter,

Numbers don’t have them don’t you know.

It would nice to know how I’m doing,

Am I walking too fast or a bit too slow.

If I could pick my own number?

Well it would probably end in two.

For no other reason than?

Of course it rhymes with loo.

Meadowhead Bard.