Staring pensively at the cheque,
hundred and thirty seven noted
collected from a few employees.
Out of hospital, I had been discharged
only to write a program to end
their sufferings, by comparing all
jobs across country in order for
them to earn a living wage.

My despair was not at recovery nor
at the enraged people in charge,
the mammoth task at hand,
tested, my program had worked
but the decision to upgrade lay
in the hands of our 'White' government
cheque in hand, was our empowerment
as their living wage made, increased.

Sitting at my desk, in her rose coloured dress
awaited my young charge, transfixed
baby on hip, playing with the beads
in I waltz, nappy bag and all
Rosie, I learned, has autism,
to get an emotional response or
a simple hug, was his pain
they survived on below minimum wage
even with her condition, a special
school would have been a strain.

Every Saturday, with baby carriage in tow
I went to my office to teach and to
right the miscarriage of justice
any game I could write, to play
on the screen, as line up the blocks
is how I reached her, taking a few
breaks to feed my milk guzzling miscreant.

She put together a show-and-tell for school
based on her training with me as I watched
teary eyed, she lines up the blocks
using the mouse almost perfectly
Rosie was a legend for the pose
she made was a momentary hug
given to her Dad.

Had I cashed the cheque,
I would have forgotten
why I wrote the program
to increase their living wage
so that I may save Rosie
from a wreck of a life!

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A colleague's, Roy, little girl at work...He wanted me to teach Rosie a skill for life