Sentenced Without Proof
Forty years I worked in busy offices
longed for days of peace and quiet and privacy,
dreamt of uninterrupted hours to read and read and read,
to eat when hungry,
to nap whenever.
This prescribed isolation of two or three or more months, though,
is more than respite,
brings on the insanity of rocking back and forth while sitting in place.
This is more than quarantine,
more than looking out for my fellow man.
This is solitary confinement
as in prison.