Dead And Gone [Rev]

Marie Antoinette walked in while I was covering my parasol
with shiny black fabric, as usual she was contemptuous of
my clownish attempts to thwart the sun warming me to the
nth degree; she is a true bourgeois whose ideas of middle-
class respectability are more important to her than having
fun and enjoying life - with sour mien & disdainful hauteur

she makes it clear she looks down on me as a low-class
clown, but at least it keeps her out of my space & her dour
face does not often grace the office where I reside with my
now burka-black parasol on my hat-stand & Hanlie smiling
at her desk, although a German contract law monstrosity is
waiting to be translated with the aid of the Internet, and this

menace is enough to drive a saint insane, the Department’s
unable to provide modern technology so a campaign started
to hound all employees, checking our coming and going and
decorating the Sechaba building with the ugliest cultural art
objects it can find, a “Joseph’s amazing technicolour dream-
coat tree” made of material and smelling bad represents the

rainbow nation, large drums converted to chairs with garishly
coloured cushions represents - heck knows, rednecks - and
inexorably the happy, dreamy days pass one by one as we
ponder moving to Putin’s Russia to be cool in Siberia while
offering our language services to facilitate nuclear reactor
construction by means of international communication, but

let me return to the practical reality of the here and now and
a new Memorandum of Understanding raising the spectre of
failure once again requiring a slow process of acclimatisation
to my being here to translate against all the odds of suffering
from brain cells lost, dead and gone…

Sing My Way Home [Rev]

I enjoy my caffè crema and walk in the sun with my
parasol; this is a beautiful umbrella festooned with
pictures from Frozen on which I hang scarves and
strings with beads, singing as I go, & accepting all
good things offered by the universe; I stare at the
lemon-&-lime green of the trees as seen through

New golden brown lenses; I enjoy a diamond-bright
silver sunlight shining through the leaves as I float in
our pool, happy & docile like a satisfied Crocodile; I
watch Pointless on BBC with my beloved & marvel
at the fact both my kids chose partners with names
beginning with an E: Estiaan & Eloise - & blessed

With allergies - fitting right in with me; I wonder at my
colleague’s sunny disposition which accords with her
surname Sonnekus: kissed-by-the-sun; I am amused
by our own Marie Antoinette’s declaring my artificial
flowers of deplorable taste; & see, she says, holding
coasters brought from home - good taste looks like

This; I nod hypocritically - real flowers now adorn my
desk - today I’ve two super-boring and POINTLESS
documents to translate, providing raison d’être as I’m
held safe by work, tho not starting asap, & as yet no
fear that I might get it wrong rears it’s ugly head; so I
am sitting here breathing in Velikovsky’s theories the

Universe is determined by electro-magnetic streams
& reading about the Establishment suppressing all the
evidence which supports that in our return to the Black
Middle Ages’ scholasticism; I’m happy & content with
peace in my heart - having survived the attempt on my
life I’m ready to sing my way home - leaving soon