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  LauraWhitehorn