Commiserate With Them (Revised) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Commiserate With Them

A sleepless night leaves me desperately tired,
huge irons weigh me down, my right arm feels
wrung out of its socket and my right hip as if
woodborers chew through the bone

Both legs say Screwtape and Wormwood are
trying to tear them off, über-tired I waddle to
work, wake enough to be rational, calm to
compile the monthly production sheet

Then to Interpol, a message about dereliction
of duty, my guilt-conscience knows I’m it too
just like these so-called criminals, victims of
the nightly visitation keeping me awake

They have all my sympathy, the evil people self-
righteously prosecuting them should experience
the same pains from Purgatory - then they’ll
commiserate with them and me!

2 May 2013