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On such a day, an ordinary day,
men come and go in the city streets;
they buy food and newspapers; they rush
to their appointments, faces flushed, pink lips full.
On such a clay you dressed
in custodial uniform,
entered the prison, went to his cell.
You saw the hard bed where he had lain
and the blank wall he watched day
after day, and the barred window
beyond eye level through which his hope leaked
...