A man of fifty years ages differently in the cell--
A rodent or a man--a difference to be known.
Discernment may be contextual for those
Bewildered by ignorance.
The young guard is.
He smiles
With a snicker of a laugh.
With an intent that seems false.
Falseness prevails in the fairytale
Where the mediocre go unnoticed.
--
The old weathered pale face with one eye closed and
one adrift
smiles; and reaches out his
Wrinkled kind hand. Shake it
I do.
I see the false smile of the young guard
parade by without notice--
The old man's hand
Clutches mine as his one unsteady eye
looks into my two steady eyes with
sorrow.
For I too am sad,
But not like this man.
"Thirty five years, I've been doing time",
the new guard continues to parade--marching with a
cold twinkle in his dead eyes.
A Deadness that may never leave--
The life of HIS lost felon burns with fire--
A dim flame amongst grey steel.
The grey steel trap shuts again, as
the old fella leaves.
The lost guard's eyes connect with mine--
He almost bumps into HIM--
A mere Gerbil.
But evades him at the last moment.
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