A Poem For Our Security Personnel
This is a poetry written for a security guard.
Of course it involves guns, failed marriages and supper.
It will try to look into the introspection required of the guards who form pleats to their pants.
It has something to do with walking and how much easier life would be if it is
a job essential.
Guards who can't sit down on duty shall be tackled.
Their mothers' story of how they've borne a child who sits
for not a minute while on duty just to secure a room full of gamblers
that none of them bet less than they should, shall also be covered.
But these are not the essentials of this poem.
These are not even given facts for facts require deferring
and clearly there's no deferring among guards who can't be bothered
to be asked of their opinion on money and stocks.
This poem shall mention about the guards' eyes, their chapped
lips, their bent muscles where water cascades when they take a bath
and all the preparation required to not be invited
by the moon nor the sound of an absent female
to pull a trigger down their soft thirsty mouth.
Labels: Mark Haddon
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