The Visitor

Every day and living night
I wander past your prison cell
nonchalant…
and whistling….
I pretend not to really care
though my reason for passing by
with such irreverence
is to check that your undeserving, scraggy neck
is not caught in a writhing rope
That your heart is not strangled
by its unassuming self
Truth is, I like to know
Exactly where your struggle hangs

Every hour or so
I’m sure you think of home
Bent stiff…..
and writing….
something dire, of course
Nothing, of little importance,
But the purpose of my call
with such blatancy, is to override your thoughts
To hijack your brain
Not yet a shriveled pea
And remind you
of what you had in you and me
Precisely, where our struggle falls
is both academic yet mysterious to me

I suppose that you could say
I am in mourning.........