A free-form poem, or narrative, that requires little explanation. A genuine example of the problems faced in prison where you cannot choose your neighbours. This can lead to exceptionally traumatic experiences, some of which I have tried to document through my poetry. There were some very strange events around the writing of this piece which I cannot discuss in this sort of forum.
Mad as Adam
Damned dubious this jaded Janus
A prison personality of palindromic propensity
This Adam needs no Eve, nor Eden’s garden
In his twenties, tallish, thin
Sad, sullen, sunken eyes that crave no contact
Curly black hair, black threadbare beard
Draped in poorly fitting prison clothes
Shod in black, shabby, shapeless shoes
That aggravate his gawky, gangling gait
He spends his time almost entirely
In his insalubrious, apocalyptic cell
Citing stanzas of satanic superficiality
His short-lived, shambling sorties
Along the linoleum-lined landings
Only serve to observe; the offices and the officers
Or to fetch his food: formidable, forbidden fruit
He stares out the windows when confronted with the gaze of another
At exercise time, he paces up and down
Alone, unlike a normal prisoner
As he steps forward his head moves back
Like a dog in a car’s rear window
He shakes no human hand
Nor touches any potentially polluting parts
Of the passing, prison population
He comes to my cell sometimes, seeking succour
Muesli, white bread, oats, sugar or something sweet
Any untouched matter that might aid his meditation
He talks occasionally of his contacts in Qatar
But mostly of marvellous, mysterious, magic
Stones that send signals
Particles that penetrate and persecute
Practising the Black Arts
Beware these eyes of Mars!
We are next door neighbours
Separated by a pathetic, paltry, partition
He paces the floor as if a caged animal
Talking in terrifying torrents
Invoking an invisible inmate
Inhabiting the inner reaches
Of his gloomy, doom-laden room
The beats of his feet keep my mind from sleep
In desperation, one night, I bang on the wall
The attempt to attenuate this ante meridiem noise
Yields alarm and surprise
“Who’s banging?” he cries
As if I, too, harbour a ghostly guest
He is rarely rude, seldom crude, but often animated
He reminds me that any complaints should be addressed
To his supernatural cellmate, or those on the landing above
One day, when I return from work, he is waiting
He invites me into his “flat”
His delirious description of a prison cell
Suddenly, he locks the door to better concentrate my mind
He knows that I have psychic powers and vertiginous visions
I explain that I cannot comprehend
All this marvellous, mysterious magic
On a copy of the Financial Times that I had given him
He points to where were written the names of the planets
In his opinion, indubitable proof of my potency
In my opinion, an attempt to solve the crossword
I explain that, in any case, the writing is not mine
That I had passed the paper to someone else before him
Unconvinced, he warns me of his powers
The end is nigh unless I submit to something
The fearful object of my submission is unclear
I beat a hasty retreat and lock myself in my cell
Determined that Adam, damned to madness
Should be in another type of institution
Along with so many in this madhouse