Common ground words
fishing sports weather work
take us through the hour
(It ends abruptly with the
sergeant's hand gently
at my shoulder - another
count is due, a meeting,
routine, which a free
emissary from the street
cannot be part. I go
quickly, relieved.) Only
twice did we touch. He
described his feelings
at the shots which put
him there. He spoke
only half to me,
mostly to himself,
of home.
Flushed with life,
I must go back
again to touch
A mass of sounds
mixed
resounding against
hard walls floors
benches
iron
in the great hall
A metal bar with
hooks - one for each
door, open now
but poised to click
as one each man
his space defined
I noticed the mountain
through the bars
of the guard room,
above the time cards
and fence. It's barely
there between the
grey buildings on
the walk where
men in green
pants pass noticing
me intently I think
but giving no sign
of interest.
