Pulp Poem of the Week

A prisoner does one of two things:

(1) he goes along, or
(2) he escapes.
That’s all there is.
His keepers give orders and
he obeys them.
He doesn’t think;
he doesn’t argue;
he doesn’t engage
in philosophical discussion.
He does exactly what he’s told, and
all of his concentration remains
exclusively watching for a chance
to move onto (2).
Then he sees an opening, and
he coldcocks the economist from Yale, and
he’s gone.

          Donald E. Westlake
          Don’t Ask
          1993