2010/06/04 Guilt Poem by Margaret Alice

I got out my document, then you started the argument
you finally realized the fault is all mine, I agreed, was
met with contempt, how dare I like doing some things
like creative writing – with no financial gain, given the
poor quality – and not be able to excel in doing my
administration, translating a noble, prescribed text?

You were quite livid, how dare I be lazy and not like
cleaning the grate, sweeping the streets, that is what
I am paid for, to toil with my mind on the end, a salary
the only thing that counts where nobodies like me are
concerned, I left the room, realized that your previous
claim that one should not work on a Friday night

Was totally invalid, I should have been doing the work that
scares me so much, I should have been checking my
Production Sheet, not been chatting to you so you can
work out the guilt is all mine, it is all my fault for being
of an uncertain temperament, any good Calvinist who
wants to be counted among angels and men would -

Work themselves to death for the advantage I enjoy
so frivolously, how dare I insist on liking my hobby
more than my job? This is unheard-of hypocrisy, I
should be shot on the spot for opting to leave the
whole Calvinist Christian system in the lurch – I
suppose the only thing holding you back is -

The high cost of a paid assassin - we cannot afford to
lose the insurance money by not putting on a good show
and you are right, I consent, the fault is all mine, I really
do like writing down my own ideas instead of rejoicing
in translating the brilliant thoughts of better minds – I
know I am guilty, yes, I agree, I am the most -

Undeserving human creature there ever has been, though
if you give me time, I can become as resigned as Alfred P.
Dolittle was in My Fair Lady when he said – “and I mean
to go on being undeserving” – according to theology,
I shall meet him in hell in any case, we can be
depraved together right there…