Three Hours Outside the Fence
I sit atop my woeful vantage point
Legs dangling in my bunkmate's face
Limp, like willow branches hanging
Eyes red, dark bags, temples banging
I gaze upon my sad communal room
A sea of men sequestered from reality
Sleep deprived, seeking an escape
Craving it in any form or shape
They told me ten, or eight if well-behaved
My penitence inside this concrete cage
They told me men like me can find a way
To cope until my liberation's day
Easy for them to say...
This tiny speck of what I hope is real
Smuggled in by only God knows who or how
Dissolved upon an orange plastic spoon
Destined to console my afternoon
I stare down at my hard-gotten syringe
A secondhand, diabetic's pill-call side hustle
Locked and loaded—its provenance disgusting to contemplate
Still, three hours outside this fence—all on a silver plate
My dangling legs have failed me once again
Both arms refuse to lead me to my bliss
All four, bound for hours at the veins
Yet not a trace of snaky purple remains
Years of this abuse have managed to collapse them all
I feel the nurse's frustration at that last blood draw
I've tried between my toes—it's no good too
I've poked and probed and cursed, believe me you
And so, as the men around me pass the endless hours
Six-hour workouts, countless rounds of dominoes, lukewarm showers
I'll chase my fleeting, numbing, pathetic reprieve
Just one fortuitous prick and I'll be there
Wasting away on this bunk, not a care
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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