Wednesday, September 29, 2010


15. a poem about training for something 
or working towards a distant goal

Excel ent!

My past experience
of formulae and control
key,  have me approach
these financial reports
with something less than glee.

I touch the cursor carefully
hold down the shift a-tremble
for it's black and white
this world of ledgers; my
instinct is to dissemble.

When she who tries
to train me true can't tell me
exactly what to do, we almost
throw a tantrum times two -
I have a sore back; she gets flu.

Across the nation, she
tries to reach my resistant
brain patterns, she tries to teach
an old dog new tricks
by telephone; though I beseech:

Oh please go back, explain 
once more - these formulae are 
such a chore. But suddenly!
I get the point! The Budget
and I no longer at war!

I almost hear her faint
with relief; at last I justify
her belief I'm a suitable
successor, a good protege.
Our next battle will be child's play!

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