Cell Forty Nine

Cell Forty Nine In Cell Forty Nine, to the noises I listen The metallic echoes of life in a prison I think once again, I’d be better off dead As memories of her drift through my head The perfume she wore that night on the town The silky soft fabric of her evening gown Holding her hand in a south coast café Not knowing arrest was a heartbeat away I proclaimed ‘To our future’ proposing a toast We’ll buy a big house on the Portuguese coast ‘We’ll have no more financial worries’ I told her Then ‘Come with us sir’, a hand on my shoulder I was honest and poor, then a chance to be rich A plan that should work without any hitch Now I lay here and ponder, if not for bad luck At what might have been, with what I am stuck Mediterranean sands, Mateus Rose wine A tin mug of cold tea in Cell Forty Nine A soft king-sized bed, her negligee yellow The bunk bed below, a large tattooed fellow A Portuguese villa with ocean waves roaring Her Majesty’s Prison, a cellmate whose snoring Evenings of laughter, a bright vibrant city Long nights of boredom, tears of self pity A white sandy beach skirting Sesimbra Bay An exercise yard with high walls of dark grey An Algarve vineyard with grapes from the vine A four year jail sentence in Cell Forty Nine