The white, hard, plastic bench-- The locked door and chicken-wire window-- The rusted drain, the vaguely urinous steel toilet-- The sink, carved from carbolic soap-- the freezing hiss Of water to numb a face of tears. No mirror here to reflect the eye. Stasis, while the world rolls by Ten yards from the barrack's escape hatch. . . . There, in the night, light, liberty, Macadam and horns, cars shouldered together In their hurry and happiness, Loud as immigrants ganging a gangplank. Here, just stocking feet that point to Hell, Wadded TP to grind into each eye, A shiver assuring you you still exist-- Bare as a smashed bulb's electric wire-- Glowing all exposed now under null fluorescents. Grey-cuffed hands unlatch me, lift me, find my shoes. My time is done. I shuffle forward.