To The Wimpy (Revised) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Feel overwhelmed looking at my work-on-hand list; as
I sink beneath the weight of documents to translate
a new batch arrives pushing me deeper – realised the
list has become a fire-spitting dragon which I dutifully
tackle sans sword, shield or breastplate – so I run to
my refuge, my inner sanctum, and find it empty

Blown apart by said dragon, whom I now face, the
challenge of documents requiring the making of term
lists – and checking for consistency in word usage; its
not something I relish or would have chosen if I had a
choice – but then I would not have chosen life thus, so
it is something I’ll survive, albeit with very converse

Feeling; I would prefer having fun but since nobody
wants to play word games with me I’m forced to do
my job, though the little I do is negligible given the
amount to be done, it would require many ages
and several reincarnations to process this load, I
might as well dangle my feet In the stream and

Dream of waffles, syrup and cream; this incumbent
cannot sit in her trench with decadence of an easy
downstairs walk, tomorrow might be bad, the day
after worse, but this moment is as sweet as a dream,
mine for the decision to ignore my conscience, follow
the devil as he leads straight to the Wimpy…