Hard Times for Victimless Crimes

That ancient system,
rhythmic clanging, metal moved
by security hands before;
now electric,
hard buzzing, banging,
and fluorescent lights
make eyes sore.

Those cell bars
are now small sections, yet
both say: monotonous stay;
now so far, it was of when
they put you
hastily away.

Probation hearing,
points so moot, well in
shared solitude;
complicated heartless suits,
think legal, cold,
for the wallet—proved.

Judge and jury, never here
and little room within;
postulate, procrastinate,
there’s something wrong
—when do you ever win?

Side gainst side, with
you far removed, it seems only old
dispositions are approved.
Once you could ride
a skateboard and hide,
but your attorney
“wasn’t really moved.”

Slower, down lower
with fights under lights,
sweat and blood let,
on the floor.
You’d send your love, kisses,
and say you are sorry,
was in for a score,
held in for one more.

Stories, some gory,
all ears, spell bound,
something, finally;
you are then given
up for cigarettes
you now have
no privacy.

From white and black,
shell, thin,
all orange,
your shallow saturate;
you and it
ground, worn all thin,
from harsher subjugate.

Gray, then broken,
a subject of law,
what choices do you have?
Animal food you masticate,
some complaints
—as if you could call a cab!

Outside, you’d mind,
loved ones or friends,
you’d wish, you’d want to see;
you want to relate,
come back and spate, here
“visitations are the key.”

There’s nothing like
that touch,
that love
you long for with your mate;
once bruised, near shattered,
that fear
of soap,
the shower room you hate.

Today, one’d say, of prisons that are
well beyond capacity,
that “a little pot, grown local,
hurt no one.”
Ponder that veracity.

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