Assimilation Breeds Contempt

I am lost in applications:*
A woe of core purpose
Wearied by predications.
How whimsical to think
That my years on this isle
Would somehow furnish a CV
With features to beguile,
The crafting of those paragraphs
A critical endeavour
To spin a tale of skills accrued
Through solid years of labour.
The sparing of the details,
It seems, is crucial strategy
To best ensure a first impression
Most likely to flatter me.
Though should I pass that challenge,
There is worse to endure
When coming face to face
With those who, to be sure,
Will doubtless double-take
At my physical demeanour
Even though I’m washed and pressed
And doing my best to look keener…
The thing I’m finding really hard
Is the tediousness of this charade,
Seeking some kind of mutual fit
For me, my skills and my damned outfit* …
And, oh, Father Christmas*,
I know you’re on annual leave,
But any left-over fairy dust
Would be gratefully received…
Not meaning the ‘Class A’ kind-
That couldn’t be further from my dream,
My recreational substance use
Starts and ends with caffeine.


In order of appearance:

*Loosely accredited to William Shakespeare’s Othello
* A whole dilemma in itself…
* WRT A A Milne’s ‘King John’s Christmas’


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s