This is for the old ones
the wise ones
the grey heads
the old legs
that make it up out
of the bunk
stiff as that steel slab
in the thin dusty light of another day.
This is for the old ones
the quiet ones
the ones who know when to speak out
and when to keep their own
counsel
Long, pain-filled lives
no perks
no bribes
no easy jobs
no cigars
perfume
brandy
pizza
or braised beef sandwiches
This is for the old ones
the plain ones
without fancy metaphors
or flashy alliteration
the ones whose mail dwindles
year by year
the ones who wake up
one cold prison morning
to find that the young ones call them “Pops” or “Grandma.”
This is for the ones
nourished
by their own muscle
sinew
soul
this is for the steadfast
This is a love poem
for those so full of heart.
FCI Dublin, 1998 Â LauraWhitehorn