Category Archives: Poem

The Security Guard

The Security Guard
541 Security guard stood afoot,
but night was getting late.
His lead eyes now were drooping low.
He has to stay awake.
545 He shook his leg and walked around.
His coffee poured and flowed.
The bank depended on this man
to guard its liquid dough.
Of course if he just took a seat,
550 relaxed his weary bones…
The benefits outweigh the risks,
and no one’d have to know.
So sitting down, his eyes fell shut.
“What if I fall asleep?”
555 he pondered in his dopey state
as sleep began to creep.
“What if a robber comes this night,
armed with a pistol gun?
Then would I be awake to put
560 that robber on the run?
Asleep, I won’t be vigilant.
The thief would prance right in.
He’d march up to our giant safe,
then empty it and grin.
565 There’d be a noise, the lock would crack,
within the riches shine.
He’d fill his bag, then he’d be off
to live a life refined.”
The guard recoiled and then he thought:
570 “What if my eyes did close
and into slumber I descend,
a deep and happy doze?
What if a crazy man then comes
and threatens with a bomb?
575 He holds me hostage for the cash –
his sanity long gone.
He yells aloud, sets off alarms.
Soon news crews do arrive,
and pictures of me ‘round the world
580 show uniformed man cry.
The bomber man has no demands,
for all he wants is fame.
He shouts out Boom! and spins his gun,
prolongs his twisted game.
585 Policemen offer deals to him,
but bomber won’t have that.
He knows his life is forfeit now
so counts down his attack.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…
590 My end is nearer now.
Light flashes! Forceful heat explodes!”
Guard wakes, and wipes his brow.
“Okay,” he says, “I should not sleep.
I’ve got to do my task
595 or awful things made in my dreams
might truly come to pass.”
But then a worse, more fearful thought
began to overtake.
Reflecting on his awful dreams:
600 “What if I were awake?”

security guard

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The Milk Man

The Milk Man
481 The milk man is a humble gent.
He barely speaks a sound.
He wakes up early every morn
to do his milky rounds.
485 He’s not a business man like some.
He knows no politics.
He picks up empty bottle crates;
each one can carry six.
One dawn the man was running late,
490 the sun was peaking out.
He had two homes left on his list
to finish his long route.
When he approached the final house
he picked up empty jars,
495 replacing them with sweet white milk
and turning toward his cart.
But as he was about to leave
he heard a sudden click.
The door flew wide, a girl inside
500 coughed lightly on her fist.
When she was sure she had his ear
she spoke this compliment:
“Thank you for your kind services,
your milk’s always so fresh!”
505 The milk man heard her gratitude
but shied away at thanks.
“Oh Miss, I just deliver milk
in its completed state.
Some other men do all the work.
510 They milk and pasteurize,
then cleaners clean and bottlers cap
and bosses supervise.”
The girl responded with nice words:
“You’re more than that, you know.
515 Come back tomorrow at this time,
I promise you a show…”
The milk man blankly stared at her,
then turned around and left.
He couldn’t help but wonder at
520 whatever she had meant.
The next day he began his route.
He walked through quiet dusk.
Despite the young girl’s prophecy,
the man would not grow fussed.
525 And then the last house did appear.
All seemed as well it should.
He picked up crates and dropped off milk,
his job complete and good.
But once again the portal creaked!
530 Girl ushered milk man in.
The room contained the neighborhood –
his clients, and all grinned.
Miss Jacobs showed her prize bleu cheese.
The baker shared his cakes.
535 And yogurts, milk shakes, crème brûlée
were all placed on display.
“You’re milk man, cheese man, cake man too,”
the girl spoke gladly thus,
“What you deliver every day
540 contributes to so much.”


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The Prisoner

The Prisoner
421 A prisoner arrived one day
at Coffee County jail.
The verdict was for ten to life
without parole or bail.
425 The first few months were difficult.
His cell mates often raged.
The confines of his tiny space
made him regret his cage.
“There’s no escape,” that’s what they say,
430 “These walls will suffocate.
Constricted, breathless you will be.
Your life is confiscate.”
Well, time went by, and life grew grim,
then prisoner decides
435 he won’t be trapped by these gray walls
until the day he dies.
He steals a spoon from the canteen.
At night he slowly digs.
He scratches holes just barely deep.
440 Each never gets too big.
He started on the far left wall,
which juxtaposed outside,
then switched his target to the back,
which softer rock comprised.
445 Some years go by; the walls expand
a little at a time.
The guards don’t notice anything;
they only see hard lime.
Expanding cells have ill effects,
450 the prisoner soon knew.
The noise was greater from the back.
The left was cold as blue.
But he kept digging up those walls.
He never missed an inch.
455 The cell grew wider every day,
but thirst was never quenched.
“I want more room so I can stretch!
I want to run ten miles!
This cell cannot contain my needs,
460 nor to what I aspire.”
And then one day he dug too deep,
for light escaped a crack.
He braced himself, and then he gave
that thin rock wall a whack.
465 A hole stood wide, no going back,
the guards would see his deed.
He stepped outside the wall divide
and breathed in flowering trees.
His world was now so limitless.
470 His walls were broken down.
No one could tell him what to do.
Give prisoner a crown!
But then a bang and sudden pain…
A bullet pierced his back.
475 The world was spinning quickly now.
His life was fleeing fast.
The prisoner had pushed his bounds,
he’d bettered his poor fare.
But walls protect; he’d never learned
480 it’s dangerous out there.


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