Come, jailor mine
rattling your keys
your step echoing delibarate and unseen
down the corridor
to slow and then halt before my cell.
My heart swells to fill my throat
and choke me,
my eyes seek the door-slot for your hand,
overlarge and hairy and hard with use,
holding a tray--my survival--my only gift.
There is nothing.
You pass by the locked door, keys swinging
and fade away till tomorrow.
I turn my face to the sour pillow
and thank God, thank God, thank God
for another day.