I think about the town I was raised in
I don’t have far to travel
I never left
And the other day someone asked me

                                        “Where would you go if you could go anywhere,
                                                              didn’t have to worry about money?”

“Well,
I’d go down to the party store
grab a twelver,
some chaw,
a pack of darts (menthol),
some Canadian whiskey,
and two slices of pizza.
Then I’d go back home and use them all up
until next time.”

I think about my town and
smile at the monuments
I’ve created.
Although they are not grand pieces of art
that hang in a museum, or gallery
they are mine
and I keep them
perhaps too close
they smother me
and I think about leaving them
like leaving a lover in the night,
always.
Even though it is a prison
it is my prison
and if I did leave,
left the door open
and a dart burning on the porch railing
only new prisons await
no matter where
how far
how long.
And after a life of prisons,
You have to rest in one,
just one.

So, alas
Here I am in my final prison
smoking and chawing,
drinking and writing.

Cheers from prison

Your pal,

Matthew Lee MacDonald