Wednesday, January 26, 2011

It doesn't even have a name


The news is on in the background.
They say a prisoner escaped,
Slipped through a hole in the the
Fence, piteously dressed for winter.
You shouldn’t approach him. Part
Of me fears the felon who held
A blade at a teenager’s throat while
He robbed the till, who threatened
A neighbour with a mallet. His
Eyes change colour when he needs a hit.

But part of me cheers him on.
We’ve all been caged, staked.
We’ve all been imprisoned by our
Own circumstances and relived
Our bad choices all days after. Who
In the field of their errors and spying
The smallest of holes wouldn’t squeeze their
Shoulders through that desperate exit and bolt
Through the frigid frost in bare feet? 

3 comments:

  1. Thoughtful and poetic. And I totally sympathize with your point. My cage has bars, too.

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