Black Poetry : Reflections from A Cell

STARK REALISM

"Enjoy your trip!"
the sheriff said as they
led me from the courtroom
"Enjoy your trip!"
...the sheriff said
as I was manacled to the floor
of the iron bus..
now with a different type of bling.
The chains I wore on the block
And the chains I wear now
Are strangely similar.
Bondage, they both speak.
My machismo, my integrity challenged
my will gets weak,
each time they say
"Drop em..spread ya cheeks"


How did I end up here?
All I wanted to do was
...represent my block
...watch the young boys clock
...pick up the drop
...get my cut off the top
To watch and laugh as they stomp a elder
who wants a refund.

In the absence of normal stimuli,
delerious... from sheer boredom,
the mind invents games...
The exact number of steps I take
before hitting the showers,
137.
the number of bricks in my cell wall
29.
The difference in sound
between a man getting beat
and a man getting raped.
So familiar with rats, I give them names.
The jangle of keys, the buzzer informs me its time to eat.
The mad scramble of 315 brothers.
A modern day slave ship.
Every day, steel grey.


How did I end up here?
Was it because Daddy was never there?
Mommy really didnt care?
Or a community too stressed,
too intoxicated to even notice?
Or was it my unresolved issues
of abandonment, neglect, disenfranchisement?
Or just greed?


Thru the glass partition
My wife's condition worries me.
Her eyes reflect confusion and fatigue.
My daughter's fear...
hyper-alert, as if she's being followed.
I ban them from visitation.

"Enjoy your trip" the sheriff said.
The final "clang" of the yard gate
the noise, the smells...

A sign over the the passage way said,
"Welcome to Hell"

I mean, really.
How did I end up here?​

The stark realism of this powerful piece is enough to scare us straight.

GREAT WORK!
 

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