The instructor is not in the room
He's a faceless, long distance prompt
And I have no manual and no schedule
I rest my elbows on the desk
I have a pencil, a pad, a laptop, and expectations
He is working from home, I expect,
I wonder if he has a cat
And a little family running amok in the kitchen
He talks me through the procedure
Like the naming of military parts
I am a primitive, learning the speech of Martian
He's a well-oiled engine
Gear changes are second nature, automatic
I am an apprentice, learning to read the dipstick
My failures to follow through to a slick conclusion
Are reflected in the sharpening edge to his voice
At every turn, I seem to derail his train
We are half an hour into a lockdown impasse
‘Nobody else has this problem in understanding'
He exclaims, ‘others are waiting who'd benefit from this service'
The phone clunks down. The instructor is right, of course
Am I the only technophobe in the village?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem