The Person Who Owns My Fingerprints

If the person who owns my fingerprints
Told me last week what he had
In store for me the past few days, I would
Most certainly have done something about it

Threatened him with a comb, or failing to buy
Enough cigarettes; maybe even an ultimatum
Saying I have had enough, I repent:
I promise I’ll do whatever can be changed

Now they have me locked up in a corner
Where I scribble notes and poems; bent
Over the desk, drinking endless cups
Of coffee: not wondering what all before this meant

As I make my escape one sunny day, the
Earth frozen this way; the snow trackless
It’s so cold, my breath escapes, giving me
Away: I’m still here, I must confess again

©Dean Baker

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