Work poem

Job-Related Incompetence

a verse on insecurity in the workplace

Yes, they've been in the building since March twelfth. And it's now June.

I don't even know how long they've been sitting at my desk.

I've been trying to ignore them.

Because--because I don't know what to do with them!
And no, it's not the first time, and no, it probably won't be the last.

They're easy, I find out when I finally ask.
When I'm finally able to go & say, "I hate these things, I don't know what to do with them!" without crying.

Yes, I know I can always ask.
Yes, I know it's all right, that nobody thinks any the worse of me--
except for me. I think very much the worse of me

I feel incompetent.
I've been doing this job since . . . uh, sometime in the nineties, right? And it's now two-thousand-three.
I should know this stuff!

Only it won't seem to stay in my brain.

And when I go to try to find the instructions, it's like I'm reading a foreign language.

It isn't that I don't care--good grief, anything that makes a person feel this bad,
they must care about! I'd write it down, but then I'd probably just lose it.

I hate being this way.
I hate being this person.

I don't know how to fix it.
I'm sorry.

I'll try to do better next time.