Cell
His father dropped out
For no rhyme or reason
At sixteen, Confusion
Struggled for identity
With a desire to be respected
He joined a gang,
Bought his first gun
And killed a man
Ever since
He's been on the run
Time, as if on wheels,
Moved fast
He turned eighteen in the hole
Living a condemned life
His only hope
Is the sliver of light
Set in the jail-cell metal door
They showed their power
By walking up and down
The concrete-paved corridor
Slapping their palms
With wooden battens
And with an occasional spit
He hates this
He hates this so much
Oft times he wished
He had a gun
I would show them
God knows
I would show them
Who is the man
5/30/11
poem by Buxton Shippy
Added by Poetry Lover
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