A twelve hour shift for all concerned, within this ring of brick and colder steel.
Their job to escape and ours to keep them in. We are vastly outnumbered.
Routine, orange lights, hungry alsations and chain held keys redress the balance,
We can, we must, we will prevail at least until the morning, to keep the public safe.
Unless of course, complacancy sucks us in.

Outside patrols brave icy wind, monotony and evicted shit parcels to stand between the bars and walls,
All movement, any movement within this zone will scream the siren if you get the chance to warn.
Inside landing rounds performed in carpet slippers, give no warning to those behind the blinding doors,
That you are there, two steel inches away listening, watching through the tiny holes.
Facing visions that may haunt a mind forever, 'eavesdroppers never hear any good!'

02.40 hrs the cell approached, the thirtieth on the wing, the beast inside grave danger to the world,
Crimes incomprehensible without reason or remorse. His many victims long since cold.
Always with trepidation slide the covered hatch, this man must always be inside.
Such monsters roam the night only within your dreams, this demon will never freely roam again.
And cut short lives will no longer feature in his daily tasks.

Instant panic, worst fears rising, the 8 feet by 6 lying empty to the naked eye,
The light switched on compounds the fear, the devil may indeed have gone.
My instant terror spins me round to check my back, though he is not behind.
My radio with trembling hand, 'Control, cell compromise, B wing, landing 3!'
Guaranteed and instantaneous the troops descend, incredulous sleep filled eyes scan mine.

He must be there, he must be there, that nasty fucker can't be out!
And so we wait until the special keys and 8 strong team in rip proof suits and shields arrive,
To dare unlock the door. their helmets drip with sweat and the visors fog their view.
Ten palpable heart beats pound the silent sleeping landing, as adrenelin chokes the veins.
So dangerous the target that 1 versus 10 we know is simply not enough.

Rehearsed and practiced procedures finally give the command to 'go, go , go!'
And the short straw officers burst inside, then stop abruptly, shields and truncheons falling by their sides.
For there in the tomb like Tutankamen, the threat had been self controlled.
Swinging through to the next world he had indeed escaped,
The tightly knotted, neatly torn bedsheet suspending his 13 stone of brutality just inches from the floor.

Compassion tempered by relief, he had escaped within,
The body could be guarded but the soul had long since gone.
I feared for those in his next world, my sympathy extinct.
The blood filled goldfish eyes bulging crudely against the purple face,
Suiting him admirably, his arrogance and indifference finally removed.

Tomorrow his shell and the mystery of motive, will go deep into the earth,
An unmarked and forever flower free mound of earth will cover this disgrace
As the ever forgiving, unconnected padre fulfills gods duty with his words.
The families of the victims will openly rejoice this final chapter,
But their questions together with the answers will also sink beneath the soil.

Neil Marsden