Thou Slave (Rev.) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

A Phytosanitary Certificate in Portuguese – what’s so
fearsome about that - though the words sing in deep-
throated phonetic vowels, the meaning is obscure, I
feel quite obtuse and as blood sugar levels plummet,
my eyes become unglued and fail, I hear explosions
in every little sound while my mind derails

The terms “Quarentenarias Ausentes Definidas para
Normativa Especifica” flow like opera, but the English
equivalent is not musical - “Quarantine according to the
specific rules” doesn’t sing at all; a small headache has
turned into an avalanche of painful muscle spasms in
my head - fearing I’ll never finish this

I remain at my computer, slowly dying on my feet as
the battle for understanding ravages my spirit and it
disappears until only my brain, shocked and lonely,
remains in my work station, seeking help in mystical
arrangements of pink scarves and delicate fairy wing
confections; the Certificate is unending, I’m falling

Headlong into the central Galactic Black Hole which
defines our corner of the visible universe – see, I am
disappeared - a creature always tortured by the iron
chains of the ethical imperative: thou shalt translate,
thou slave