Poem – One Hand of Freedom

An original poem this one, a little story if you like.

Would I know my time was up
When I met Sarah Jayne
crashed my head with her car door
said nothing wrong with a little pain

Married with the wrong head
So beautiful, she was being used
Temper flared when we got home
beaten and bruised

No-one knew of my distress
her rule was much disguised
something sweet, and something sharp
pacified and pulverised

Tricked, traipsed back
Searched, escape this mess
attached to the door
handcuffed and hopeless

One hand, one saw
gives a souvenir to the room
so raise a toast my friend
to one hand of freedom

I’m not sure where this came from, but the final line became the prompt. Eagle eyed readers may spot the poor joke with the picture. It was from the original sixties version of the fugitive. Apologies by the door.

Lexicon word of the day: Poltroon.


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