Hold my hand through the bars,
we can learn how to live all over again.

Mind your Ps and Qs, keep them in a penny purse.
wear your orange jump suit backwards,
live out your sentence in reverse.

Crinkled, crumpled and recyclable,
throw yourself away.

You know that it'll take eleven kps
for any real escape,
yet you try nonetheless.

The sticks and stones, the pebbles I've thrown
don't leave traceable dents.

There’s a mountain made of
boxes I nailed shut, long ago
I mailed them to myself, with a shove.

Up to your cell, wobble towers,
tiny boxes creating stairs

The edges curled, cardboard grew ridges,
the cutout dream
caught fire to my bridges.

We couldn't have turned back,
had we tried.

Etched into the walls,
messages to future prisoners;
instructions on avoiding cafeteria calls.

Hiking boots with cleated treads
for steep hills, rocky cliffs.

The extents gone to freeing the caught,
comfortable behind their striped shadows
are left unnoticed and left to clot.

Used napkins on tourist ferry seats,
cheap asian sauce hiding jail blueprints.

Hide in the elevator shaft,
I’ll meet you in the back stairwell.
You bring life jackets, I’ll bring the raft.

We can pretend the verdict swung
and go back to being free enough to visit supermarkets.