Ode to Paperwork

What's this, that causes, without fail,
My blood pressure to rise?
Nauseates, keeps me from sleep,
Confuses, angers, terrifies?

Its neat, type-written pages,
So innocent appear,
It will only take a minute, right?
Where is the cause for fear?

But oh! The ambiguity!
I think I'm going to cry!
The intelligence I thought I had,
Has left me high and dry!

My name (my name!) I've written wrong,
Oh why can I not think?
If only it were pencil,
And not this bold black ink!

Lines one through seven went alright,
Without too much frustration.
Line eight's a doozy and bids me search,
For some long-numbered publication.

Now for a lengthy guessing game,
Of "Does this apply to me?"
Put YES or NO or leave it blank,
And pretend I didn't see.


Line seven hundred forty-A,
In perfect legalese,
Asks the state of my finances,
And if my cat has fleas.

Attach the proper documents,
To prove I'm really me,
Paperclip -"no staples please"-
To page one hundred twenty-three.

Buried here in paperwork,
I still can't understand,
I now have just one question more:

Can someone hold my hand?


Ode to Paperwork, 9 x 12 Ink and Watercolor
Copyright 2011 Hannah C. Heyer