SCARS

(Travers in reflective mood, standing underneath a lamp-post)

Travers
Here, under this lamp-post my head is still churning
How did he get to find his place?
First a rogue trader, and then who knows what?
Then we come face to face.

And I find he’s an MP!
But my path was different to his
I never chose to remain in that prison
It just wasn’t me.
Things I suffered, how I suffered
Inmates, fighting, Scars!

All the platitudes, too many to count,
Lost in the darkness, no order at night
We were the scapegoats, never too sure
Never seeing the light.
Never seeing the light.

We knew our place in that sty,
They called us pigs to our face
And each had their reason for doing their time
In that God awful place.

And if we failed as one did fail,
We then lost face,
And so it was then after several long years
I walked through those doors one last time,
And looking forward to better days,
I shed no tears.

Now chief inspector,
Couldn’t be better
Under the stars.
More important now,
My head is quite clear
And free from all those scars!