That Mythology of Paperwork

It's the thirteenth time.

Torn (no, ripped), taped back together, 

bleeding ink,

signature-tattooed,

official, regulated, proper,

destined to arrive there,

at the wrong time,

the wrong department,

in the wrong hands.

The white envelope dark

like Hades, smirks,

mocking my inability

to follow elusive instructions.

I must have sinned.

The form's my boulder.

Why do I bother?

Why do I bother?

My task

She quoted someone whose name I forget,
something about her tasks being akin
to the torture of…someone…Sisyphus!
Speaking of endless repetitions, clean
becoming soiled and then the soiled made clean
over and over and over again….
Staying in Germany then with the kids,
still in my 40s, she in her 30s,
one of us had a lot of growing up
to do and now I know it wasn’t she.