Anomaly

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In my time I guess
I should have been
one in two point five,
but we bumped the average
and that fifties' ideal
stretched past nineteen sixty
as I became one in three.

So now I remember us
only slightly above average,
as our red Rambler ragtop
grew wings at the taillights
with mom and dad in front
and three of us in back
of our sparkling tan Cadillac.

We rode like that from Selma
to Virginia then got an Olds
for California and Mississippi.
All so extraordinarily ordinary,
two brothers on each side
and sister squeezed in the middle,
each so uncomfortably normal.

Looking back on it all
I guess it was predictable
as we fought, laughed, cried and
grew up into new equations
living such different lives
yet each still one of three:
our private statistical anomaly.