INSCRIBED ON A WALL AT THE PREFECTURAL COURT

On New Year’s Eve I should be home early,

but this office full of business keeps me.

Writing-brush in hand, hiding my tears,

I face all these bound prisoners, helpless

little people scrambling for food, snared

in the law’s net, and no reason for shame.

I’m no different: adoring a meager salary,

I follow orders, losing my chance to live

quiet and far away. No telling who’s noble,

who vile: we’re all just angling for a meal.

Could I free them for the holiday at least?

I brood in shame before ancients who did.