There is little notice
of the eddies of leaves,
trapped and circling
in the corners
of
chain-link.
Stepped on slices
of white bread;
blackened
banana peels
litter the walkways.
Someone has fed
the prison mascot,
a vagrant cat,
a volunteer mouser
for the state
of
Missouri.
A sergeant kicks
the little mound
of dry food,
sending it skittering
into the dewy grass,
wasted.
There is a pale pink
to the sky.
Leftover sunrise.
Hopefully, other eyes see it too.
“Single file lines into the chow-hall, gentlemen!”
There is little gentleness here.
It’s contraband.
Chewed to pulp,
spat where needed.
A poultice.
An ointment.
Made from the last of the marigolds,
The Susans who’s black-eyes
have healed to a bruised yellow.
Pockets full of pink sky,
cool air,
sober hopefulness.
Stepping gently
into the
caged morning.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications 2020
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 10:46 AM UTC
There is little notice
of the eddies of leaves,
trapped and circling
in the corners
of
chain-link.
Stepped on slices
of white bread;
blackened
banana peels
litter the walkways.
Someone has fed
the prison mascot,
a vagrant cat,
a volunteer mouser
for the state
of
Missouri.
A sergeant kicks
the little mound
of dry food,
sending it skittering
into the dewy grass,
wasted.
There is a pale pink
to the sky.
Leftover sunrise.
Hopefully, other eyes see it too.
“Single file lines into the chow-hall, gentlemen!”
There is little gentleness here.
It’s contraband.
Chewed to pulp,
spat where needed.
A poultice.
An ointment.
Made from the last of the marigolds,
The Susans who’s black-eyes
have healed to a bruised yellow.
Pockets full of pink sky,
cool air,
sober hopefulness.
Stepping gently
into the
caged morning.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications 2020
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