Please ... Thank you

 
 
He was reading from the book his father had sent him ...  
 
"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly."  
 
Who was he to lecture me about what I'd done.  
 
He was the one in jail, hell I didn't even get caught  
 
not really  
 
I just got greedy and careless  
Leaving the new Matchbox cars and pink Spauldings I'd boosted from Woolworth where my mother could find them  
 
I was gonna sell it all at school on Monday ...  
 
but this was prison Sunday  
 
And my father's tired sallow eyes were begging his man child to take heed  
 
for the vernacular of the condemned was no different from those who walked in the sun  
 
He asked the guard "Please"  
to have permission for my baby sister and I to sit in his lap  
on the inmate side of the table  
 
but the privilege would not end with a simple "thank you" ...  
 
It meant daddy owed  
 
Owing meant breaking those who wouldn't heed the screws' rules  
 
And daddy was built for it, carved from Carolina oak  
 
I often thought he only scolded me because he thought I was soft  
 
a punk  
 
a pussy  
 
that wouldn't be able to handle  
 
the life  
 
I watched the deconstruction of his mind and soul many a Sunday  
 
not understanding he'd traded my rightful place so I might walk in innocence  
 
when he was home  
He'd beat my mother  
 
And I wished him dead  
Revoking his trade  
 
ending his agony  
And mine  
 
true to his word  
he let himself be taken  
in a hailstorm of fire in steel  
 
So I try to stay true to what he said  
On those Sundays sitting in his lap  
 
Always saying  
 
"Please" and  
"Thank You"  
 
while living  
 
A life  
 
not  
 
the life