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christopher-howard-gorriePoems
Their bars are bars there. It’s just that the taps have all run dry. Behind a wall computers clank, buzz, dilapidate. Behind thickened glass clerical workers patter like hail on shingled roofs. Beyond walls and glass, sallow-white leaks. I sit rough somewhere. Cold, unfeeling stone everywhere. A payphone stares jeeringly at me. I curl up tight. Mother and father surely spite me now. Brother won’t know, no, he won’t know. Others never will. Don’t comfort me. I’m in pajamas. I’m grasping at straws. I’m falling fast. I’d like to know how much is the bail. “Sixty-thousand.” My fingers are pressed on a copier like those old, dear library books. Copied and copied. Next I’ll be shelved.
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Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
From Central Jail in San Diego, California
Their bars are bars there. It’s just that the taps have all run dry. Behind a wall computers clank, buzz, dilapidate. Behind thickened glass clerical workers patter like hail on shingled roofs. Beyond walls and glass, sallow-white leaks. I sit rough somewhere. Cold, unfeeling stone everywhere. A payphone stares jeeringly at me. I curl up tight. Mother and father surely spite me now. Brother won’t know, no, he won’t know. Others never will. Don’t comfort me. I’m in pajamas. I’m grasping at straws. I’m falling fast. I’d like to know how much is the bail. “Sixty-thousand.” My fingers are pressed on a copier like those old, dear library books. Copied and copied. Next I’ll be shelved.
christopher-howard-gorrie
Written by
christopher-howard-gorrie
American
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
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