Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                             Forgive Me for not Writing Yesterday

I was reclined before a bin of farriers’ tools
Ironmongery smithied in shining steel
In a room shaded institutional green
Fluorescent lights, only one door

Gadgets clipped to me, needles poked into me
Surely soon would sound the voice of Number Two:
“Information. We want information.”
Thinking of pain, then poetry, then you

But having a dying tooth extracted
Does not lend itself to metre or rhyme!





(Lines 6-7 allude to Patrick McGoohan’s brilliant series, The Prisoner)