I always prefer to be in city jails.
The food’s not bad, two meals a day
from your closest fast food joint.
The room may freeze a bit but most
provide you with a worn blanket
you can put around your shoulders.
If you’re in luck you’ll get a good
cellmate. I do my stretches and
my sit ups too, tell my tales to the
constant camera up above that
watches us, as if I were a real
storyteller. The cellmate and I,
we tell each other tales of our
minor crimes and challenged
lives. You get on the stir crazy
side and begin to want to punch
each other out, so I think myself
a monk, say prayers to meditate.
The hardest part is taking daily
dumps right in front of your
cell mate’s face, washing your
hands in the tiny sink above the
toilette, trying as best you can
to wave away the stinky smell