THE CONSTITUTION AIN'T IN EFFECT IN OKALOOSA COUNTY




DAY EIGHT: Prison Diary January 10, 2013 Solitary Confinement Okaloosa C.I., Crestview, FL


LIFE IN THE LIONS' DEN

One of my favorite books of the Bible as a child in Sunday School was Daniel. It had such exciting stories, like the three young men surviving the fiery furnace they'd been thrown into without so much as a blister, the mysterious handwriting on the wall, and, of course, my hero, Daniel, in the lions' den. In years to come, I could relate personally to Daniel's story. Unlike Daniel, who spent the night in a den of hungry lions, I have lived in the lions' den for many years, yet I have survived, by the grace of God.

As a child, I saw things with a child's eye and a child's understanding, but becoming a man, I looked at things and understood them differently. So it is with the Bible. Many Bible stories are multi-layered, with the surface features presenting a straightforward narrative that satisfies and explains the events in a simple style that most anyone can understand and appreciate, but with deeper levels of meaning available for those who seek them. The fiery furnace, the writing on the wall, and the lions' den, according to scholars, as well as most every other part of Daniel, are fertile subjects of intense study and meaning.

I'm not a Bible scholar, but going to prison for life has a tendency to change the way one looks at the world, and studying the Bible is a busy occupation for many, especially with all the well-meaning Christians whose mission is to bring light to the darkness of prison. This starts in the county jail with preachers and volunteers passing out New Testaments, literature, and simple Bible studies to captive audiences behind the bars. Once you get to prison, it is more organized, and certain churches and other groups have prison ministries with weekly programs that may last for years.

With the educational levels of most prisoners being fairly low (70% of Florida prisoners are functionally illiterate), it would be wasted effort to teach religious subjects at too high a level. Many of the Bible studies available to prisoners are what I call the "Fill-in-the-Blank School of the Bible."
for example: "For God so loved the  (blank) that
                      He gave his only begotten  (blank) , so
                      that whosoever believeth in  (blank)
                      shall not   (blank)    , but
                      have everlasting  (blank)   ."  John 3:16
Fill in the blanks, earn a certificate, congratulations.

Even with the low average educational levels, there are still a number of high school- and college- educated prisoners who are unsatisfied with the simplistic studies and seek courses with more substance and intellectual challenge.

I was fortunate in the mid-1980's to be at Zephyrhills C.I. when Professor Bob Loeffler came to the chapel with an offer we couldn't refuse. He taught Bible classes at Trinity College in Dunedin, whose graduates received divinity and theology degrees. A well-off elderly lady felt moved to pay the college tuitions of a class of prisoners who wanted to take college-level Bible courses. Professor Loeffler asked if we could come up with twenty-four prisoners who could meet Trinity College's enrollment standards. We could, and did. He offered to teach a class twice-weekly, three hours a night, at the same intense level he taught at Trinity. The men responded to his challenge.

In the two years the program continued, I learned a tremendous amount from Professor Loeffler, and developed a confidence in my Bible knowledge that I would never have gained on my own. We learned about the historical perspectives of the various books, when they were written and by whom, and what was going on in the surrounding world at the same time, in addition to the inherent messages of the works.

There was a King Nebuchadnezzar, a Chaldean who ruled Babylon, a mighty kingdom at the time, and he did besiege and capture Jerusalem, the capital of the Jews. There are independent historical records that confirm many of the events in Daniel.

Daniel recounts the story of the First Exile (605 B.C.), a deportation of captives taken to Babylon across 500 miles of desert, along with much of the temple gold and treasure. The king ordered that a number of young men from the royal families were to be trained and taught the language of the Chaldeans, so they could serve the king. The classical literature of the Chaldeans, which predated the Hebrews by centuries, was written in Sumerian and Akkadian cuneiform, a complicated syllabic writing system. But Babylon was a multi-racial society, with all the military successes bringing in merchants and slaves from distant locales, and the language of normal communications was Aramaic, with an easily-learned alphabetic script. The captives from Jerusalem spoke their own language, Hebrew, with its own script.

You'll have to read the book to get the whole story, but after the first deportation in 605 B.C., a second one, in 597 B.C., included the prophet, Ezekiel. In 586 B.C., when the Babylonians destroyed Jerusalem and the Temple, the third deportation occurred, and many more were enslaved.

The city of Babylon was built astride the Euphrates River The Tigris River was about 100 miles further east. Babylon was in the middle of the Fertile Crescent, what has been called Mesopotamia, the cradle of civilization, now Iraq.

Classical writers recorded glowing accounts of the splendor of Babylon. The high hundred-gated walls were so wide a four-horse chariot could turn around atop them. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Newcomers to Babylon gawked at a staged temple-tower 295 feet high, and several colossal gold statues weighing tons each.

That was where Daniel and his friends went to work. In the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible, it says they worked under the "chief of the eunuchs." That most probably meant that all the royal captives chosen to work in the palace were castrated (ouch!), a subject that is not further discussed. Old King Neb didn't want any young, virile foreign slaves sneaking into the harem. In the New International Version (NIV), a modern translation in language we can better understand, the word, "eunuch," is nowhere to be found. Instead, Ashpenaz is described simply as chief of the king's court officials, perhaps sanitizing the account for the more squeamish modern reader.

Back to the lions' den. Daniel lived a long time, and because of his success interpreting dreams, he rose to prominence as chief of magicians. By now Darius, the Mede, was king, and some jealous officials falsely accused Daniel, manipulating the king to order Daniel cast into the lions' den, albeit unwillingly on the king's part, where he spent the night. In Hebrew, "Daniel" means, "God is my judge," and during that long night, Daniel's God judged him worthy. Daniel told King Darius that God sent his angel, who shut the mouths of the lions. They did not hurt him because God found Daniel innocent in His sight.

This is the part I like: at the king's command the men who had falsely accused Daniel were brought in and thrown into the lions' den along with their wives and children. That was the custom of the time, perhaps just a little harsh. The Hebrew law prescribed something similar for false accusers in Deuteronomy 19: 16-19, "If a malicious witness takes the stand to accuse a man of a crime,
                                        the two men involved in the dispute must stand in the presence of the
                                        Lord before the priests and the judges who are in office at the time.
                                       The judges must make a thorough investigation, and if the witness proves to be 
                                        a liar, giving false testimony against his brother, then do to him as he
                                        intended to do to his brother. You must purge the evil from among you."

That part of the story had a quick resolution and a happy ending. My own experiences with false accusers have gone on for over a generation, and continue to this day. I was thrown into the lions' den of prison by false accusers,and I have no doubt that the lions' mouths have been shut by angels. I wonder if those who continue to lie and condemn me would fare as well.

Daniel was still alive in 539 B.C., when Cyrus established the Mede-Persian Empire (present-day Iran), which is the date of the fall of Babylon. Other books of the Bible recount when King Cyrus freed the captives in 537 B.C., and very possibly an elderly Daniel saw the exiles return to Judah. To this day Iran covets Jerusalem, Israel, and the land of Babylon, present-day Iraq, and would probably like to march the captives across the desert into slavery again.

All that's left of ancient Babylon are bits of rubble in the desert, south of present-day Baghdad. But the book of Daniel lives on, with its plethora of messages for modern Man.

Charlie

THE CONSTITUTION AIN'T IN EFFECT IN OKALOOSA COUNTY

DAY NINE: Prison Diary January 11, 2013 Solitary Confinement Okaloosa C.I., Crestview, FL


SOMETIMES IT'S LIKE PULLING TEETH

There are all kinds of rules in prison, rules that supposedly apply equally to prisoners, guards, and those higher ups who wear jeans, dresses, and ties to work. Sorry, Charlie, not true.

Prison is a societal hybrid, little plots of totalitarian dictatorships plopped amid wide expanses of democracy, like spots of  melanoma infecting someone's back. The people locked up in these places have been judged guilty of violating society's laws, so they are removed from the democracy and placed into the prisons for reform, revenge and rehabilitation. Yes, revenge. Society demands its pound of flesh. When someone has satisfied the burden placed on him or her by society for recompense, when their time is up, or another "authority" decides that person will live a law-abiding life, they are released into the not-so-open arms of society for another chance.

Meanwhile, someone has to work in this totalitarian hybrid, to run the operations. In come the public servants, selfless people with only altruistic aims to help their misguided brethren mend their wrongheaded ways. Again, Sorry, Charlie! - not true.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they speak to people they consider both much lower and higher on the totem pole than they are. Smiling faces. In prison, we see stark contrasts. An employee - a woman, let's say - talks to a prisoner, who she considers her social inferior, "like a dog," as the expression goes, condescending, insulting, "getting off" on the power trip of lording over another person. In the tyranny of prison, there are many petty tyrants who use their "authority" to satisfy their own inadequacies, insecurities, and personality shortcomings. Many of these people are most notable by their ill-bred lack of common manners. Everything is personal. Friend or foe. If you are considered an underling, or "scum of the earth," as they depict those beneath them, if you don't kowtow to their every whim, bow and scrape, they'll say you don't have the proper attitude, and use that as an excuse to harass you and get you "back into line," where a good slave should be. The Civil War has been over for 145-plus years (NEWS FLASH - ya'll lost!), but the slavemaster mentality lives on in the tyranny of prison.

Former prison official, Dave Brierton, once said, "People are sent to prison as punishment, not for punishment." That distinction is one of the hardest things for many prison staff to understand. It is not their job or mission to inflict additional punishment on those under their control. It is bad enough just being here, separated from loved ones and freedom.

Switch to SCENE TWO: a higher-ranking person approaches the employee described above. It doesn't have to be a much higher-ranking. Let's say he wears a tie, how does the other person act? Have you ever seen an orphan cocker spaniel at an animal shelter when a human approached who might adopt the pitiful dog? Not just the tail wags - the entire dog wags, and whines, submissive to the max, will lick that superior human's - well, you get the picture. They will say or do anything to please their superior, no matter how far they must abase themselves. The words, "sycophant," "toady," and a few others come to mind. Fill in the blanks.

Sorry, Charlie, I don't play that game. Do you remember the words, "All men are created equal?" I happen to believe those words, and the ones about how every person has "inalienable rights," endowed by their Creator. They don't want to hear that in prison. But not everyone - there are many examples that prove the rule, many fine, moral employees who come to work to do their jobs, go home, collect their paychecks. Many military veterans come to work in the prisons after going to war, have seen it all, and maintain their military courtesy, work habits, and professionalism.

That's what I'm up against here, in this place, today. Do you remember, "Fatal Attraction?" Michael Douglas and the psychotic, obsessed Glenn Close? In this case, it's not even close. Just unbalanced and fixated on harassing me. And when the truth isn't enough - lie! Who will they believe?

That's what I went through this morning with being baited by a transparently two-faced sycophant who, like a spoiled child, has had her way so long, and now wants to smash anyone who won't stand for her abuse. And when the "superiors" have been snowed and flattered and conned for so long by such a person, not even they will make the right decision to stop the employee's illegal and unethical acts, even if it lands them in front of a federal judge. Enough said for now.

That's how the morning started out. Then they came and got me to take a walk to the prison dentist office. That required the several pounds of hand cuffs, waist chains, and leg irons, shuffling from confinement to the medical building. Fun.

We passed the smoking area where several women employees enjoyed their cigarettes and coffee, acting like some scruffy-looking, unshaven character chained and in leg irons passing by was no different than Mr. and Mrs. Jones out strolling down Honeysuckle Lane. "Good morning (smiles), how are you?" (How do I look like I am?) "I'm fine, thank you." "Have a nice day." "I will. You, too." "Thanks." (puff, sip).

It takes an eternity to get in to see a prison dentist. $5.00 copay. So what? When you have a tooth broken in half while you were eating, and it's hurting, you don't care what it takes to fix it. Thank God the caveman era is over.

If you want your teeth examined by the prison dentist, you have to send in a request to be added to the list for a treatment plan, which includes cleaning, x-rays, and a check-up. I've waited as long as 18 months just to get in the door. Right now I'm in the middle of my "treatment plan." I saw the guy in October, and if I get done in 2013, I'll be surprised. It only took six or eight months to get in to see him this time, so I feel lucky.

The broken tooth was not part of the plan. Does your dentist talk too much? Don't you hate that? There you are, mumbling, "Pull it! pull it, pull it," and he's droning on and on about how he has to do this and that and the other, interminably, saying he hasn't got time to look at it today, or pull it, but I'll be rescheduled at the earliest opportunity, yadda, yadda.

Well, Doc, if you'd taken a quick x-ray and shot me with novacaine when I came in, instead of giving me this windy canned speech, I'd have been out of here already. But no. Maybe next week.

Actually, on the whole, the majority of prison dentists do fine jobs and know their business. They just talk too much.

We had the "turkey sausage" for supper, although I couldn't get nary a gobble from the beast. Looked like a fat, short hotdog. They picked some turnips out of the field, but they boiled them to death. Most of the turnips wind up in the swill barrel.

I had a hot shower and some wonderful mail, so my evening is complete. See you tomorrow.

Charlie

THE CONSTITUTION AIN'T IN EFFECT IN OKALOOSA COUNTY

DAY SEVEN: Prison Diary January 9, 2013 Solitary Confinement Okaloosa C.I., Crestview, FL


The Russians in Stalin's gulags (prisons) used to say that the years pass quickly, but the days go slowly. That is partially true today. When the lights cut on in lockup at 4:00 AM, blinding cell lights, two hours before breakfast, it seems like an interminable time until ten o'clock that night when they cut the lights off. Seven suns have risen and set, as our Native American brothers and sisters say, since I was unceremoniously shoved "in the hole," a week has passed, and what do I have to show for it? A lot, actually.

At nine o'clock this morning I was summoned to a legal phone call with my attorney, William Sheppard. After getting gussied up with a set of handcuffs, waist chains and leg irons, I shuffled to a little hearing room where my classification officer waited by a phone. She gave me the phone and left the room, closing the door. Attorney-client confidentiality.

After that, the nurse and doctor waited to complete my annual physical. I'd lost six pounds on the scale, but that wasn't counting the several pounds of steel bracelets and anklets I wore. Prison diet plan - go to solitary - no between meal snacks.

Considering the circumstances, I should be happy I am in relatively good health, all my lab numbers in the normal range. The doctor said my cholesterol level was very good, lower than his, and I answered, "Yeah, but I'm not eating those porterhouse steaks, baked potatoes and sour cream like you are." Not much cholesterol in beans and soy patties. I told the doctor I'm trying to survive this life sentence, and maintaining my health is crucial. Many prisoners have severely curtailed life expectancies, usually from bad lifestyle choices, and many look years or decades older than their actual ages. After living a monastic lifestyle for over 34 years, I'm doing better than most, not letting up now, but it isn't getting any easier. The hard, grating conditions, the endemic abuse, and the psychological torment inflicted on most prisoners wears down even the strongest of men. Apathy is a contagion that affects many prisoners and staff.

I am grateful for small blessings. It took me six days to get a toothbrush - one with a thumb grip, perhaps two inches long, I suppose so one so inclined can't stick anyone in the eye with it. Have you ever tried to brush your teeth with the corner of a towel for six days? It's not fun. The "stale" toothpaste they issue is made in India, probably from holy cows. It used to be made in China, but they had a major product recall - something about contamination, and they switched suppliers to India. Whatever happened to "Made in America?

Anyway, I had a brand-new bottle of Colgate toothpaste in my stored property, along with a bar of good soap and a paperback book. I sent in a request, since we are permitted such limited items, and today they brought the three items. Christmas in January. "When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose," the man said, but in here, where no one has much of anything, the little things mean a lot. So I got out my thumb-sized toothbrush, loading it up with blue-and-white "name brand" toothpaste, and woke my mouth up. No, I won't throw away the toothpaste from India. It's still good for cleaning the little stainless steel toilet.

After waiting for hours, it is almost time to take my quick shower. On Monday, the water was warm, but dribbled out like-I don't want to say what I was thinking. No washcloth - apply soap with your hands. The three-second push button barely comes in before it cuts off. You have to endlessly push it to get the drizzle. Very difficult to get wet, soapy, rinse and get clean. Perhaps that's why they call it prison. You don't want to come here.

Before I go, my web master says I must mention Kim Kardashian, Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber, Michelle Obama, Hillary Clinton, and "Psy," to keep up the hits on the blog, and attract a younger, more hip, and older, more sophisticated reader of the accompanying blog. Since today marks my 12,701st day of captivity, I'm not getting any younger, or hipper, either, so I guess we're even.

Thanks for reading this far, and keep in touch. If the grinches make me do the entire 30 days of retaliation in "the box," I'll get out on February 1st, right before Superbowl Sunday. Who do you think will win? Being cut off from all news sources, I don't even know who's playing.

In the meantime, goodnight, and I'll see you tomorrow, if the Lord is willing that I arise.

Charlie

THE CONSTITUTION AIN'T IN EFFECT IN OKALOOSA COUNTY



DAY FOUR: Prison Diary January 6, 2013 Solitary Confinement Okaloosa C.I., Crestview, FL


You would think that these people should know better, locking me up in a cell for a month with a hundred sheets of paper and a pen. What could be the harm? As someone once said, "They can kill me, but they can't eat me."

My latest confinement poem for your enjoyment:

IN THE DARKNESS

In the darkness
I dream of light,
Bright places
Where the sun shines
And grass grows,
Trees sway in rhythm
Casting cool shadows
While children dash and play,
Their laughter tinkling
Like so many wind chimes
In the breeze.

In the darkness
My eyes open
To visions of clouds
In their whites and gray
Puffiness, moving cotton
Balls with blue sky
Framing them, birds coasting,
Incurious of the figures
Below, spread out on colored
Blankets patchworking the park,
Food and music - a happy picnic.

In the darkness
I feel the warmth
Of my lover beside me,
Her hand grasping mine,
I sense her smile
At the joy of children and dogs
Running, leaping, in clueless safety,
For a moment eternity is stilled,
I inhale the sweet scent of love
I see everything,
Although some say nothing.

In the darkness
I am young and free, for awhile.

Charlie

THE CONSTITUTION AIN'T IN EFFECT IN OKALOOSA COUNTY

DAY SIX: Prison Diary January 8, 2013 Solitary Confinement Okaloosa C.I., Crestview, FL


Here we are on Day Six, a Tuesday, much like Day Five, with a few differences. The noise reverberating against the concrete walls, steel doors and stairways is unrelenting. Never stops, nothing to say. On Day Five I spent several hours composing and rewriting my grievance appeal of this false d.r. to the warden, who rarely, if ever grants  anything. My situation is more crucial because I am spending 30 days in lockup "on the house," strictly on the word of an obsessed civilian prison employee who went way beyond her limited authority - abused it and violated the law many times, but no one supervisory over her apparently cares what she does. There is much speculation as to how she has gotten away with all her actions over the years, which I won't go into now, except that this camp is far from Tallahassee or any cities of consequence, and many people are close-knit for generations and interrelated. The movie, "Deliverance," comes to mind. Where is Burt Reynolds when you need him?

The Big Event in the evening of Day Five was shower time. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Tonight there are no showers for this wing, approximately 88 prisoners in two-man cells, close quarters. And it can be a long, musky time from Friday night until Monday's shower! The air gets very musty. Most have no money to buy deodorant, shampoo or soap. And for those who pace their cells for hours like zoo animals, working up a sweat, it can get awful.

Besides the thrice-weekly showers, the only other big event are the three meals a day. I've written about the paucity of food available on a budget of $1.54 a day, but actually they serve those in lockup better than those on the compound. Since a majority of the kitchen workers rotate in and out of lockup for stealing food and other nefarious infractions, those workers who dish out the confinement trays are generous with the serving, and don't "shake the spoon," prison parlance for a nasty server who loads up the serving spoon with the correct serving, then shakes most of it back into the serving tray for meanness. They might be in lockup next week, so mostly they are looking out for themselves and others.

Years ago at Raiford, a big smart-aleck prisoner on the serving line intentionally shook the spoon on Junior Bullard, a legendary chain gang fighter. Junior pointed his finger at the guy. A day or so later Junior caught him on the compound and pounded his ribs. The next time Junior went through the line when the smart-aleck was working, he gave Junior a double serving.

Today I spent hours writing out details of this incident to my lawyer, "renowned civil rights attorney," William Sheppard, as the newspapers describe him. I've been so busy with legal paperwork that I haven't been able to keep my goal of a poem a day while I am back here. I've completed three so far, that I'm fairly happy with, and hope to catch up when I've caught up on the paperwork. No books to read, no newspapers, no magazines are available, except for a Bible, but not even St. Paul would read the Bible all day for a month. As long as I still have pen, paper, stamps, and envelopes, I'll be okay, but that is running down fast.

Now it is time to wash my socks. Hurray! They don't issue socks in lockup. I came in with my personal socks, as well as tee shirt and boxers, and have to wash them in this dribbling sink if I want to maintain my own hygiene. The state isn't the least bit worried about that. Perhaps I'll get a letter in the mail with papers printed from internet sources, something interesting to read. A couple of old friends send me such things every so often.

As for now, arrivederci, buenos noches, and good night. See you tomorrow.

Charlie

THE CONSTITUTION AIN'T IN EFFECT IN OKALOOSA COUNTY

DAY FIVE: Prison Diary January 7, 2013 Solitary Confinement Okaloosa C.I., Crestview, FL

A happy birthday poem:   GUARDIAN ANGELS

A Tribute To Merry And Libby


She sought sanctuary at a church,
A fitting place on a frigid night
      near Christmas,
A plaintive whine in desperation
Drew a guardian angel to the door.


What she saw clenched her heart
      in pity, concern, and compassion:
A young dog, less than a year old,
     a puppy still, black and brown,
     a hound trembling in fear and cold,
     curled up in hurt, injured,
     starving, thirsty, abused,
     wincing, squinting in the door light.


She took her in, careful now,
A yelp — I’m sorry, girl,
     I don’t want to hurt you.
In the heated room the trembling
     could not abate, the puppy,
     given up, hope gone, on her last legs.
Let me give you a drink, girl,
     you must be so thirsty,
The guardian angel said.


She lapped the water from the bowl,
       tenuously, nervously, cringing,
       unused to kindness,
       only pain, as so many suffer
       the hatred, the angry kicks
       and curses, unwanted.
The guardian angel laid out cushions
       and blankets for a bed.
Let’s get you warm, little one.
I’ll call you Merry,
       since it’s Christmas.
Merry licked her hand
      in gratitude and relief,
Laid back and went to sleep.
The guardian angel fed her, nursed her,
      loved her, treated her wounds.
The vet tut-tutted, she was almost dead,
      someone mistreated this dog.
I know, but she is safe now,
      she is home, she is mine.


As Merry strengthened and grew stronger
      she never left
      her guardian angel’s side,
At work, she curled up on a blanket
      beneath the angel’s desk,
Alert to any visitor who might venture
      too close, letting them know,
This one is mine,
      she is under my protection.
At home, on guard, the mailman
      never got past the door
      in all the years Merry
      stayed on duty, ever vigilant,
especially on neighborhood walks
when strange dogs came to sniff,
a growl was all Merry needed
      to maintain the safety zone
      around her guardian angel.


Merry made many friends over the years,
      Marty and Buddy, Bentley and Blue,
Neighborhood dogs from the smallest
      to large, Chihuahuas, schnauzers, a wolf,
      a yapping trio of Bassett pups.
Everyone loves Merry,
She even forebore a series of cats,
Disdainful of those who lounged on her bed,
Calmly biding her time till the cat
      left her bowl unattended:
Scarf, scarf, the cat food was gone.


It has been many long years
     since that night in December,
Years of happiness and joy.
She’s fourteen now, slowed down some,
     hard of hearing,
Yet some mornings she’s frisky as a pup
     on the walks with her guardian angel,
     the cool air refreshes her thick fur coat,
     she’ll still chase a squirrel,
     and ducks in the park,
She loves to wade in the surf
     at Flagler Beach, and ban
     every seagull in her vicinity.
She has loved long and well
     Her guardian angel,
And guarded her in turn,
     on late-night grocery runs
     and ATM’s, then at home
     in secure sleep, always.
For Merry has known
     what others have not:
We are guardian angels
     to each other.



Charlie

DAY THREE: Prison Diary, January 5, 2013, Solitary Confinement

THE CONSTITUTION AIN'T IN EFFECT IN OKALOOSA COUNTY - Day Three


After awhile, one day becomes much like the others. Most men in solitary try to sleep their time away, but I am not one. I have too much to do, promises to keep. Here is the sestina I wrote, since I had more time to work on it.

ONE GLASS MORE
A Sestina

by Charles Patrick Norman

He stared out the window through the blind
From afar she watched the sun come up.
Everything happens in order.
In a few hours it won't matter.
She pushed open the gate with her hand.
In some things you'll find that less is more.

She thought she saw movement, then no more.
She wondered how she had been so blind.
She knew he had been just a hired hand.
Why did she feel he had set her up?
It is only mind over matter.
Could he make her obey his order?

He made the call and placed the order.
She turned the knob and took one step more.
I don't want to deal with this matter.
Is love irrational, or just blind?
She entered the room as he looked up.
He touched her cheek with his cool, soft hand.

At deceit you may be an old hand,
But I will keep my thoughts in order.
A glass of wine, dear, might cheer you up.
I can't take your abuse any more.
Do you think I'm that stupid and blind?
You think this is a laughing matter.

She cried. He asked, Now what's the matter?
I believe you have the winning hand.
How can that be when you've robbed me blind?
Don't you care about law and order?
This is good wine. Would you like some more?
She reached for her purse and picked it up.

When she cocked the pistol he spoke up.
This is just a trivial matter.
Perhaps to you, but to me it's more.
She aimed the gun with a shaking hand.
I will not take another order.
For a moment the blast made her blind.

At the knock she looked through the blind, as a voice called, open up.
It was a man with an order; Can you sign for this matter?
She took the wine bottle in hand, and decided on one glass more.



Charlie