Hard Timing It.

Somebody, somewhere down my block –
must’ve disagreed with the job I got
made a poor-sport’s jealous decision
to go ahead and drop the dimes in,
tried and convicted – let the drama begin…
about a quarter after two, I make my way through
the mainline, like old times – of the CHU;
Somewhere down the shackle line,
a mouth talked shit that wasn’t mine –
so now I have to back a play,
that I am oblivious to, anyway;
not my problem, not my game,
but I’ll take a rubber bullet –
either way, all the same;
never a dull moment
when you reside on Cell Block A,
never any time
for your peace of mind
to reflect on the wars you’ve waged;
because bitches equals drama
no matter the hour or the place,
especially without the makeup
that used to mask her ugly face.
Last weekend, Chow Hall got locked down
yes, once again
the inmates found a new way in;
and when Cook tried to cook,
the good shit had been stolen,
she refused to work until
the fucks in charge
secured the food in the kitchen –
and we all starved meanwhile,
though they called it a “hunger strike”
chalked me another six months on my time,
simply because my skin happens to be “white”.
And, reading in the nighttime, no sir;
my Bunkie has rank and she is a lifer,
and since she says the light bothers her –
it’s light out at sundown,
or it’s curtains for sure.
Too cold or too hot
not a lone, happy thought –
cup o noodles for
a potent coffee shot,
prison is Hell for a half-breed
no motto to recite out loud,
no glorious songs to sing,
no gang to bang
from the safety of a crowd –
no belonging
with anyone or to anything.
Read read read
and then read some more,
read til your brain can’t
comprehend anymore,
one day the sun will be on your face
as you leave this place
out those elusive front doors;
Goodbye young chain gang,
rotten apples of my teary eye,
I will not be back to see you
but maybe
I’ll catch you on the outside.