Poem: Data entry

[alpharaposa]

One of the side effects of writing so many sonnets has been a more active muse,willing to take on other subjects. Even in sestina form.

Data Entry

Sitting and typing, flying across keys,
Listing little things; Name, Spouse, Occupation;
Filling blanks to create an entry.
The turn of digits in intricate dance,
Pouring data into screen after screen
Every bit correct, to the last number.

Some claim this job makes the heart number;
Doors in the soul close with keys
Lost in that pallid, glowing screen
That stands at the center of the occupation,
Stealing us from the eternal dance
Til we can't even mourn its careless entry.

And the heartless work of making entry
Erodes us by inches. So, we number
The hours and minutes until we can dance
To the artful whims of some tables and keys
Flickering with life as the sole occupation
Of musicians listed on a miniature screen.

What kind of filter can we use to screen
Heartlessness and tedium from its entry
Into the grind of our daily occupation,
When all of our work is reduced to number
And letter and the clatter of keys
Where only our fingers are allowed to dance?

There is more than data in the dance
Between my work on one side of the screen
And the person in whose trust these keys
Are held that allow me intimate entry.
Each field described by name or number
Demands of me a respectful occupation.

While I work at this distant occupation
I join with that soul in digital dance,
Reminded to carefully audit each number
For the tiniest mistake within this screen
Can allow misfortune terrible entry.
I am the guardian of these keys.

No mindless occupation serves this screen,
But the dance of love. So, every entry
I count each number and watch my keys.