Faye Sizemore

CELLMATE

POW/MIAA year… or an hour…
does it matter anymore
After awhile a Prisoner Of War…
gets used to a barred door
I see an ant crawling across the floor
… is he like me… a soldier lost to war
Boredom has almost worn out
the old memories of home
I feel like that ant… crawling all alone
All of my buddies are dead and gone
I remember Blue Ridge mists
… blessed mountain scenes
Sun-kissed… and so missed…
missed for thirty five years
… each year filled with tears
My old hound dog… did he forget me…
… My rusty old car… It is probably sold…
It… like me… was just growing old
What does it matter anymore…
Just a Prisoner of War…
lost in my boredom… I watch
that Soldier Ant on the floor
I wonder… could he have ever seen
the mountain shadows… blue and long…
falling across the meadows of home…
reaching toward my little hometown
of old hound dogs… and rusting cars…
far… far away from these prison bars…

Submitted for the February 2004 IWVPA Club Theme Project, “Boredom