Degrees Of Gray In Philipsburg
You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down.
The last good kiss
you had was years ago.
You walk these streets
laid out by the insane,.......
The only prisoner
is always in, not knowing what he's done.....
Richard Hugo, 1967
with many, many apologies to Richard
The Last Prisoner
For years gray man
Huddled in the old cell
In his burning brain
He plots his escape
So quiet and careful he has been
In his scheming. Even in the dark nights
His plan moves forward
The latch is weakening
Under careful pressure the hinges
For the door itself, begin to fail
He imagines the excitement of being released
Of friends who might shout his name,
Buy him a drink
Of his lover, older now, with her knowing smile
Telling him she knew no jail could hold him
Of the light, the sun, the trees in the rain
He grinds his remaining teeth
Brushes thinning hair
Chuckling to himself, thinks of old songs
He has lost any sense of time, can't remember
Winter or Spring
For him there has been the locked door
The endless filing, rubbing, wearing down
Pushing, cursing the barrier that has blighted his life
It happens when is he is drowsing
Half awake, wrapped in rags
That pass for bedding
A strange sound, like a tree falling
Or a sudden heavy blow
And the gate, the door,
The anchor that has blighted his life
Is gone!
He staggers in the light
Blinded nearly
And sees the vague shadows
The empty streets, shops boarded up
An echoing silence, old papers blown
Leaning against the wall
He considers
Should he return to the cell?
Gibbens
