Tuesday morning, the metal door
behind me slams shut and i climb
upstairs to the first floor,
thermos in hand as i mime
motions iíd done dawns before.
The feeding tube alarms chime
and the call lights coruscate
to signal the end of mealtime,
and our blind, schizophrenic inmate
screams that itís a crime
to have to wait for a
second cup of coffee; itís the law!
His face contorts to pique abated
when the nurse hurries down the hall
to hand him - i havenít the heart to tell him -