And Murdered in Her Bed

(Oscar Wilde wrote that long poem "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" in 1897, quoted here. In it, a man met his death; for some decades the UK has not had the death penalty.) ----------- Our man’s still here, spent twenty years behind these bars. and may be here for quite some time to come. Death is not allowed in jail, even for death, and yet it was a death he brought about. She was “The poor dead woman whom he loved And murdered in her bed”. Yes, he thinks of Oscar’s words, the words that talk of “three leathern thongs” that hold a murderer. He thinks of the rope that would throttle; he wishes Mr Wilde’s “Ballad” would apply to him. He wishes for death, wanting to share that of the one he loved. But he’s been here for twenty years. He may remain a long, long time. Punishment! Decades more seem to hold out their arms. Punishment! He'll be gripped by each decade’s year. Punishment! Each “year whose days are long”. Punishment! Oscar’s “Ballad” has long been with him, a long, long poem he cherishes, takes to his bed, wishes for that condemned man’s throat, the rope and thongs the man felt as “he gave that bitter cry”. That man was given death. Execution was perhaps reward. Each had, of course, killed the one he loved. What is a punishment? Death now, quickly, or life in jail? (17 Jul 2023)