I think I am
Somewhat trapped.
As I sit in my room,
Doors locked, windows bolted,
I do feel as though
I have been incarcerated.
Of course, imprisonment is
Generally a penalty
Although I am unaware of what I have done
To deserve this sentence.
In fact, I think that the Pohutukawa
That stands outside my window
Ought to be blamed for this mess.
I did not provoke it to disperse its pollen all over me
And following the incident,
Though I did react,
Though I did throw a fit,
It was one merely of sneezes,
Hardly labelling me a criminal.
I fail to identify in this, my non-guilty plea,
Any faults of my own,
Yet I am the one
Who is suffering most.
I vigorously rub my red, teary eye,
Its itch is not relieved
So I remove my hand from my eyelid,
Stare out of my window,
Stare into freedom,
And continue to be
Somewhat trapped.
YOU ARE READING
Untitled
PoetryWhen, following a dreadful incident, an innocent man battling his indignation faces the penalty of a criminal, only one thing can result: a poem.