"'@3THEY'LL put you right!@1'" Immediate in obedience, I place myself 'twixt mentors, marvels of proficience, Eager to imitate their easy sleight Of hand, their geographical omniscience. The 'sto-oof' rolls in: Amid the din I pause—each cover poised in tyro-hand— Consider, cogitate, at length demand "Where does @3this@1 go?" Am told ... and so Thrust it, with imitative, wristy sweep, On its appropriate heap. Thus, for three hours, (Precursing Purgatory!) I ask and ask and ask ... till my bemused memory Remembers nothing, and ennui over-pow'rs Body and mind: what time, admonitory, Critical, near, That Overseer Surveys my state. I feel the fellow smile And make a mock of my inexpert style Of sorting. Then Perspiring men, All-unexpected, loose a sudden whoop, A loud, glad cry ... "All o-oop!" Despatchers come, (The end of toil now nearing!) In anxious haste, to make their ultimate clearing— Before they tie up each particular sum— Then back again to their own 'boards' go veering: At last, each drags His dozen bags Across the floor, to where, in reeking pot, The wax awaits to marry seal and knot. Gargantuan, The bursting van Goes station-wards. Drowsy with dust and stink, I have but one thought ... drink! |