Called Helpdesk, had pop-ups to get rid of –
advertisements of men and women for sale,
sandal posed to kill a bug and mouse to be
caught for winning a prize of some sort
Balls bouncing, a red button to press, the
screen alive with pictures of bellies growing
and shrinking accompanied by promises
that I could do the same – I know, I see my
Middle region growing daily but the shrinking
bit never happens; then success, sighing
with relief – these pop-ups drive everyone
insane, and I return to my document
Overlapping responsibilities between ANAC,
SODEXAM and MIE; oh, I forgot, I’m already
insane having to work with acronyms that
never imply a recognisable name…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem