Christine Tsen

Alert behind bars
he’s an old soldier, knows how to endure
to force his feet to look busy
always earning extra duty –
a candid compression of hope
he trots zealously to the farthest end of his world
which, battling his pride, isn’t very far.

His tongue burnishes a sidearm jewel
a banquet of scents clinging
fragrance of so many human palms
signatures on his lycan chronometer
as his unavoidable eyes toss it back and forth
across an open court
to the farthest end of his honor
which, battling his unsheltered pride, isn’t very far.