A love poem for lonely prime numbers

My name is Harry Baker.
Harry Baker is my name.

If your name was Harry Baker,
then our names would be the same.

(Laughter)

It's a short introductory part.

Yeah, I'm Harry.

I study math. I write poetry.

So I thought I'd start
with a love poem about prime numbers.

(Laughter)

This is called "59."

I was going to call it
"Prime Time Loving."

That reaction is why I didn't.

(Laughter)

So, "59."

59 wakes up
on the wrong side of the bed,

Realises all of his hair is on
one side of his head,

Takes – just under a minute – to work out
it’s because of the way that he slept,

He finds some clothes and gets dressed.

He can’t help but look in the mirror
and be subtly impressed

How he looks rough around the edges
and yet casually messed,

and as he glances out the windows,
he sees the sight that he gets blessed

with a 60 from across the street.

Now 60 was beautiful,

With perfectly trimmed cuticles,
Dressed in something suitable,

Never rude or crude at all.
Unimprovable,

Right on time as usual,
More on cue than a snooker ball

But liked to play it super cool.

59 wanted to tell her
that he knew her favourite flower,

He thought of her every second
every minute every hour,

But he knew it wouldn’t work,
he’d never get the girl,

Because although she lived across the street
they came from different worlds.

While 59 admired 60’s
‘perfectly round’ figure,

60 thought 59 was… odd.

One of his favourite films
was 101 Dalmatians,

She preferred the sequel.

He romanticised the idea
they were star-crossed lovers,

They could go against the odds
and evens because they had each other,

While she maintained the strict views
imposed upon her by her mother

That separate could not be equal.

And though at the time he felt
stupid and dumb

For trying to love a girl controlled
by her stupid mum,

He should have been comforted
by the simple sum –

Take 59 away from 60,
and you’re left with the one.

Sure enough it took him 2 months
of moping around,

But 61 days later,
61 was who he found,

His next-door neighbour,
he went round to her house,

Because he had lost his keys again
and his parents were out.

As he noticed the slightly wonky
numbers on the door,

He wondered why he’d never
introduced himself before,

As she politely let him in
his jaw dropped in awe –

61 was like 60, with a little bit more.
(Laughter)

She had prettier eyes,
and an approachable smile,

And like him, rough-around-the-edges casual style,

And like him, everything
was in disorganise piles,

And like him, her mum didn’t mind
if friends stayed a while.

Because she was like him, and he liked her.

He reckoned she would like me
if she knew he was like her,

And it was different this time.
I mean, this girl was wicked,

So he plucked up the courage
and asked for her digits.

She said, "I'm 61."
He grinned, said, "I'm 59."

Today I’ve had a really nice time,

So tomorrow if you wanted
you could come over to mine?

She said, "Sure."

She loved talking to someone
who was just as quirky,

She agreed to this unofficial first date.

In the end he was only
ready one minute early,

But it didn’t matter because
she arrived one minute late.

And from that moment on
there was non-stop chatter,