Tried to find the guiltless line,
tried to reply knowing contextual
words right, knowing the intrigued
sensitivities, knowing from a reservoir
of trite and humourless lessons
drummed night and day – you are
not a barbarian, you are not
uncaring, tell the truth, be polite.
Quaked at the sight, held
fear for a tongue too stiff to hold
tight against traitorous words
tumbling – trembling as one might
when piss presses sharp and stains
pants in an unholy expression of
uncontrolled infant urgency.
Sweat beads, the brain seethes,
the plight must be obvious but
there is no relief, is not going to be
clemency, no child’s haven
welcoming respite.
Asked to explain again and
again why did you do this thing.
Despite knowing the right line,
the illegitimacy of charges laid,
that though truth is right,
knowing for shame of rationality
that authority cares less for truth
and more for the punishment.
Commonsense bids you
hold your tongue.
© I.D. Carswell 2006
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