Government Writer

She digs deep
With a nail file
Piercing an empty space that separates the B from the G
And finally
Successfully
Obsessively
She extracts a small ball of delinquent cat hair from her keyboard
Mingled with moldy crumbs from a sandwich she had Monday.
Such is the secret life of a government writer.

It’s funny, she thinks, the things you do for money.
From 9 to 5
Bureaucracy and hypocrisy
Are an accepted part of her artistry.
The words she once painted on the page
With sweeping emotive strokes of brilliance
Are now rolled on
Evenly. Systematically. Tediously.
With a neutral faux finish to carefully cover up any hint of inspiration.

And now she stares blankly at her computer screen.
And distracted from her last distraction,
She decides to google her name.
Again.
Where would she be, if she wasn’t she, but
Janice Mann from Illinois, public school trustee.
Or young J. Mann, tragically dead from scarlet fever in 1893.

But eventually deadlines loom
And Ministers’ speeches don’t write themselves.
And as automated as a washing machine
She goes into spin cycle
Rinsing off the muck
And wringing out a message as banal and innocuous as a Hallmark Greeting card.

Health care and education? Get well soon.
The end.
She saves, then she sends.
Then she googles a friend.
Such is the secret life of the government writer.

© 2007 Jan Mann