My Dream — Dedicated to Max Weber
This is my dream!
To sit in blatant idleness,
My superior’s consternated frowns to shun.
To boldly sport a silly grin in the face of tradition.
Worse yet, to strum a merry tune on the cord that binds it.
To revel in the discontinuance of a thousand imprisoned minds.
Yes, such unreckoned bliss must befall our hero.
Who, from the inexorable horror
Of red pencils, stacked
Row on row in boxes, of dusty reams of facts
Plastered thin on paper reaching high
Onto the peaks of unrelieved boredom
Of all the mindless information gathered up
In secular obligation by our bureaucratic priests
Will save us.
For it is he who shall say,
As they lower him in his plain wooden box,
That there is a truer reckoning that the hallowed
Pension Plan
And that man’s soul can ne’r be found
Imbedded in the mounds of dusty forms that lay
Row on row
In boredom
Tear on tear