Here we go, sent on a course ‘proofreading and
basic copy editing’; in my frustration I see no joy
in the prospect, my eyes feel dim and my soul is
missing - somebody stole it, I’m without insides,
a hollow mask & an eerie Phantom laugh failing
To conceal confusion beneath, so I eat a mound
of sweets to fill the empty space where my soul
used to be - fleeing a haunting image of my son
seated at table frantically reading notes - he did
not listen properly in class; if only I could
Replace it with a picture of him calmly doing his
weekly assignments and me listening devotedly
to holy words on copy editing and proofreading,
trying all the while to still my shudders - fearing
boredom-to-be, if I frog-march march my son to
The altar of learning I’d better lead by example
and bury my unwillingness…
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