That damn bell
every day it screams
enters my head,
my heart,
my soul.
~~
Shuffling feet
disorganised line,
moving steadily forward,
never ending,
shuffle, mumble,
mumble, shuffle
strike a match,
smell of memory evoking sulphur,
enters nostrils as
palls of smoke
spiral around
heads, tightly tucked
into coats, sweaters,
hands in pockets,
down-cast eyes.
What is so special about shoes,
why do we all take an avid interest?
A banker next to a murderer,
next to a drug-dealer, next to
a thief, walking in circles,
no boundaries here,
no class system here,
we are all equal
as we shuffle,
always shuffling
in ever decreasing circles
forming our
daily
Crocodile Line!
Vonnie
Comments
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Where do you get the imagination
Growing up here in the trailer park on the wrong side of the tracks I know some of the down and outers personally. My wife and I volunteer at the Matt Talbott Kitchen and the food bank. People ask me how I can work with the poor. But the answer is easy: just treat them like anyone else. Treat them with a little personal dignity. There may be no class system in prison, but the rich are rarely found there. I liked the part about the bell. I'm not in prison but I still have my bells to answer. Your poem is dynomite!
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