In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 279-284

The lower door had been a cargo hatch,
ingesting and regurgitating bags
with little numerals that one might match
(if one was lucky) with one’s claim check tags.

The occupants now permanent, this door
allowed the entry of necessities
and exit of what could be used no more,
like human waste and stuff that makes one sneeze.

His first time in, with Seven Six’s wreck,
he’d gone in also through the cargo hold.
He’d felt a thrill when he had reached the deck,
but this was platinum if that was gold.

Though he’d grown up near where these creatures ranged,
he was no more of them than of the birds.
So once he was inside, had he been changed?
By this did he switch sides, in other words?

It would be nice if we could introduce
an insider with Ciral to compare:
someone who’d never been, like he was, loose—
someone who, unlike he lived, lived in there.

Unfortunately, he had smoked them out,
so they were unavailable to speak,
and while there were more carriers about,
to look at them would make our story weak.

©2011 Louis A. Merrimac