time served

every day
the bleak
looks bleaker
the meek
look weaker,
as this stone rolls
back down the hill again;

I'd ask for the time,
if I thought you might
spare some,
or maybe a dime,
if there was something
worthwhile
that I could do with one;

when I make that
long, slow march
into Hell,
I am asking for credit for
time served.



December 2, 2009, from the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.