the one-cell lock-up next the village square
must boil at noon and drive the inmate mad
his voice is loud although the tone is sad
but not a one who passes seems to care
just one more sound in heavy midday air
red seam on black will show itself not glad
and no one wonders just what choice he had
while portly sergeant might look out and glare
you wait for court-day does not fall this week
though custos might stop by to use the phone
and compliment the lowly rank and file
the man who's in the box has no mystique
though close to people he's the most alone
with words that hurt and curse hate and revile
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