THE SORROWFUL PRISONER

The knife pressed deep,

Cut to the bone,

Blood started to seep,

But refused to groan,

A generous splash of vinegar,

A pinch or two of salt,

The sorrowful prisoner,

Was accepting of assault.

A high pain threshold,

Through barely gritted teeth,

Didn’t flinch or scold,

Or show pain deep beneath,

Put on happy face,

And nonchalant voice,

Showed poise and grace,

Really had no choice;

Hid distaste

Of inadequate result,

Punishment misplaced;

No one to consult;

Just as accepted

Inevitable mess,

It was intercepted

And made a little less.

The salt soothed,

The vinegar cooled,

Had all been removed?

Or prisoner fooled?

No longer sure what was real

Or hallucination,

Or ‘whatever’ would heal;                  

Allow rehabilitation.