What a Privilege (Revised)

Underachiever that I am, I went into shock
realizing the depth of my manifest failings,
with my allergy always at work as an oxygen-
thief I fail to concentrate on routine things

The i’s are not always dotted and t’s crossed,
spaces and full stops not filled in correctly, my
administration a sin, migraine taking up valuable
space sitting in my Troglodyte chair

Three dislodged discs in my neck abetting my
failure to love perfect diction in rendering letters
by disgruntled members of the public in perfect
English for an obscure secretary of the President,

Not careful enough about one-eyed Cyclopian Troll
Interpol messages hunting criminals all over the
world, not word-perfect translating Arabic script into
workman English, not meeting with any requests

I see how I underachieve, how my example in
feeling ill at work and filling forms incorrectly
creates bad impressions, how lacking
accomplishment means I deserve punishment

The shock received is SO good for me, they need
ever so much better people in bureaucracy, people
who can serve with one hundred and seventies
intelligence quotient – I shall quietly assimilate

label of underachiever, my intelligence just
fell by a hundred degrees since that appellation,
being in shock means I am frozen in pain of
devastation, of guilt and sinful, awful things

Therefore I toil in misery, sweat clouding brow,
knowing now that I shall never be good enough
for our scintillating bureaucracy - but privileged
to serve in my lacklustre way!

************************************8

Isn't it wonderful how fast we become dumb
when labels are hung around our necks - losing
the little ability we had - so now we have none?
I thank everybody who took pains to make me
see the error of my ways and by labelling me
an underachiever, making sure I turn into
a gibbering idiot overnight, I can happily
assure you the therapy is working, I am
growing dumber by the moment!


[ANONYMOUS COMMENT:

We all underachieve, and we also over-achieve; the
perspective that matters however isn’t exactly ours
to chose.

In the workplace mania for ‘ranking’ as you express
it exceeds all rational derivations of utility. It
ceases to be an incentive for behaviour modification
and therefore is actually useless.

In that respect I see what your poem defines as
your own devaluation.]