Prison, Guarded
Cons sharpening spoons like pros
and cooking up who knows -
Bathtub gin, crumbled Meth, and
Get Out plans.
Everyone’s got something to
run from.
Everyone’s got something to get out
from under.
To escape.
Everyone’s got something to
run from.
But only some,
only some,
have someone to run to.
I escape. Every day
he goes away…
To work. To play.
Maybe my prison
is not the jail at all.
It’s being free
night after night
and knowing I have to go back.
I have to go back
night after night,
every night, every day.
Wake from the dead
and pour a cup of dread
Do right by everyone -
do as I was told -
and get sent to jail instead.
Each day
Again, each day.
Copyright © Stephe Watson | Year Posted 2025
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