Pacing the Yard

A poem about political prisoners and their abuse, from Irish republicans, British trade unionist and suffragettes.

Have you ever paced the yard,
Slow foot falls
F*g in hand?
Foot follows foot,
Time measured out by drags
On a borrowed f*g?

Have you ever deliberated the dimensions your cell,
Terminals manned,
With head in hand?
Pill follows pill,
Seconds commeasured and each felt,
Your thoughts falling away like blossom melt.

Have you ever weighed the minutes,
With Emily Davidson?
Tied to the bed
And force fed.
Had your will by minutes subverted,
Or sought freedoms so as it may be reasserted?

Have you ever reckoned the days
Like our Des Warren,
Voice muffled
Feet shuffled?
Days shot out by jags,
As through the fog of a borrowed f*g?

Have you ever been locked-down
Alongside our Gerry Conlon?
Lying prostrate
For three days straight?
Years metred by beatings
And the crushed glass in the food you are eating?

Have you ever paced the yard?
Had your liberty repealed?
Have no one hear your appeals?
Was justice, for you, ever paradoxical?
Panoptical and non-reciprocal?
Have you ever done time, soft or hard?

Have you ever paced the yard?

21/09/2014