I shall be researching it forever - this statistics document
created in hell to send suffering souls like me to Purgatory
forever - then into eternity while humming with bated breath,
tears streaming - snail-like creeping to the Registry desk -
far from the complacency of my own happy nest, & singing
a Spiritual Lorelei Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten;
I don't know what anything means - Dutch Statistics striking
me like a feral snake in my Achilles heel - no, a basilisk, the
Leviathan of primitive times towering over my running figure,
only the knowledge my dear colleague Hanlie would suffer
in my stead if I were to leave, and that my kids would suffer
hardship keeps me here, perched like a bird in fear on the
Edge of the Registry chair, my back curved in angst - I can't
build high towers for the computer & be a stand-up translator
here, flying under the radar, listening to the happy chatter of
my privileged African colleagues, I struggle through the pitfalls
of every word and phrase to be looked up, improved, tested,
rejected - to soothe the eventual reader, poor fellow, I see his
Brains burning on wading through this destructive document,
no place for heart or feeling - or anything…
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