My First Two Weeks Back…

I have worked thirteen hours a day for the past few weeks

At the start of fresh employment, plowing the rows from an un-tilled field

Left to weed over and clump after last season’s harvest by my terminated predecessor

The drawers are replete with superfluous papers printed and placed in troves

From six years or more ago until the beginning of this April

Where a man in his early sixties was replaced by a man in his mid-thirties

A Generation X'er for a Boomer and the source code in the computer is

Thankful for the exchange of fresh memory

Openness and exuberance that this prestidigitation of financial data

Accounting minutia and modern commerce is enthralling to those left wayside

To pant as vagabonds for a controlling leader to the chaos capable of penning in

The day’s events of marshaled hooligan transactions into alcoves of accountancy

The spider webs and dust have been white-washed in the synchronicity of

A young-man’s hunger to prove himself in front the other lions

Knowing what he is capable of is not for his pride, but for his sanity

The rural nomenclature of bucolic prisons was a pillory for bovine execution

I could no longer stand the scent of feces bombarding my olfactory processes

With the grievous taint of normality that this could be tolerated as mundane

That I am now empowered to spin Rumpelstiltskin's wheel and turn this sty of

Papers and electronic folder files into a gold-leafed accounting Valhalla

The department will taste my brain swollen from over half a day of thinking

In the pits of problems unaddressed for years and undocumented before Hurricane Katrina

And my exit from my New Orleans shall be my recompense

In the arms of my own fairy tale, I do return absent the softness of a voice

I will work these hours so that I may one day speak again

On a pace, in a place, that is of all things

Worth coming in a place I can call home