Doing Things I Hate

My colleagues are tough and strong,
in need of nothing, no guardian angels
or fairies or purple toadstools and magic
bags, no colourful burqas to hide from
oneself and no hopes and dreams, no
help or schemes

When my colleague received a magic purse
with her own guardian angel she gave it to me,
for her it has no value, to me it means everything
because being a failure like Rincewind and
running from things means I have need
of supernatural help all the time

All I have today is knowing that high expectations
are not a self-fulfilling policy when one has a brain
like a sieve, meant to dig and eat slugs and worms,
strewing ashes on my head, wearing sackcloth,
wishing only one thing: to disappear, become
invisible, vanishing

Lie down and die peacefully to see the truth
behind the illusion of man-made reality which
holds no escape from boredom and misery,
without the excitement of murder and
revenge, doing things I hate is so
boring, you see…

[As long as the burqa has its own air-con inside and I can be a walking air-conditioned penguin within – the colour can be white, pink or blue]