Instructive aim Poem by János Lackfi

I was late for work,
I had lost sight of time a bit while
having a drink with the lads,
but never mind, you've got to relax sometimes,
I mean I've got obligations, for sure,
but then am I not a free,
adult member of the human race, sort of, or what?
The staff meeting was in progress by then,
with the boss in full swing,
he's the big cheese at times like this and he can certainly bang on,
but the moment he has to account for himself t
o the wise guys at the top his self-assurance shrinks in a trice.
I didn't know what exactly they were on about,
but I cut in and asked him
straight out if he had done his homework properly,
or was he just shooting his mouth,
at which he turned crimson and began to stutter.
It was clear as daylight that I was right again,
the whole thing was just a bluff on his part.
So I launched into a little patter about
if he went on like this and didn't shape up,
the whole firm would be down the pan
and he would be looking for a job
as a road sweeper like everyone else,
and only there,
when he was up to his eyes in rubbish,
might the thought hit him that
maybe I had been trying to help,
but it would be too late by then.
He got quite alarmed and quickly handed over to someone else
and sat there nibbling at his nails at great length,
one at a time, from the little pinkie over to the thumb.
In the end I told him
that if he didn't leave off I would rap his knuckles,
because that isn't the sort of thing one does in public,
to say nothing of all the who knows
what gunk he was picking up from under his nails,
a fine little infection,
you could be sure of that, just wait and see.
He retorted that people swallow loads of rubbish every year,
but I cut him off coldly saying that if he really wanted it,
then I would order a load of rubbish for lunch,
but in that case he would have to eat the lot.
Anyway, if I caught him at it again,
I'd rap him on the knuckles.
To start with he didn't dare to chew them,
but I watched him out of the corner of the eye,
gleefully observed him as he slowly forgot himself,
and when, as if by reflex, he raised a hand to his mouth,
I jubilantly whacked him a resounding slap.
He made such a dejected face that I almost felt sorry for him,
but I fought back the impulse,
because he was only a boss, after all,
and I've got principles, I can't allow it,
given that I have a responsibility
not just to myself but to him as well.
In the lunch break
I caught sight of him at one of the tables,
a plate of spinach steaming in front of him,
that was on the day's menu,
but he was just poking his knife in it
and it was obvious he had not touched it.
I was willing to bet that he wanted to take it back uneaten
and then slurp back an expensive cup of cappuccino
in the refreshment room.
I knew what I had to do,
so I stole behind him and started to shovel the green mush into him,
hissing into his ear that he should bear in mind
just how many people had put their work into it,
planting it, watering it, hoeing it, picking it in blazing sunlight and driving rain,
even grinding it up, but here was he,
not giving a damn for all that diligence,
on top of which spinach contained a whole raft of mineral goodies,
a true blessing for the organism.
He managed to make a total mess of his brand-new Pierre Cardin suit,
we'll have to have words about that later,
but in the end he choked and spluttered that it had gone up his nose,
he would rather eat the lot on his own.
I inspected him with contentment as he sat there,
his face red as a lobster,
the fay droplets of his tears dripping into the food
as he spooned it in with obvious disgust.
I was filled with the elation of victory,
the remainder of the working day zipped by as in a dream.
I even managed to nip off a little early,
because I was rushing home
as I'd promised my son
that I would give him a report about dinosaurs,
and if I were a minute late or hadn't one my homework,
he would give me a good dressing-down
and dock some of my pocket money at the end of the month.

Translated by Tim Wilkinson