One morning I was caught half way downstairs
and pushed into a passage at the side
where I was threatened by people I knew
using words that I recognised from source.
I let them lead me away quietly.
And came as cargo to this end of Earth,
both still perplexed and angered by harm done
by those who didn’t seem to do much good.
Between arrest and exile, there were days
in which I was confined to dirty cells
but treated with courtesy of sorts, at times.
My enquiries caused them lingering amusement.
“He wants to know where he’s going to go!
To the quay, Sir; and then a little journey.
Not to your death. Not yet. We’ll do you no harm.”
said while grinning like a naughty infant
who’s confident he will not be punished.
Therefore, I prepared myself; ate the food;
exercised this weak body a little;
and tried to feel hopeful of success
without any idea what that might mean.
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