Blow

Every year I'm evaluated on my
progress in this prison camp.
Have I completed programs in
anger management or taken any
college courses? What have I
done to prove myself rehabilitated?
Re-educated? Am I a danger to the
community? I present the certificates,
little bits of paper signed by faceless
wardens stretching back more than
two decades. Writing, twelve steps,
financial independence, teaching certification,
paralegal certification, art, modern
dance, theater, the list goes on. You
learn a lot in prison. The investigating
officer types in each accomplishment.
I'm asked questions about the
strength of my bonds with family and
friends, whether I have enemies or been
to the prison's jail. Am I interested in any
forced labor slave jobs or would I like to
work in a sweat shop?

Then come the important questions of
moral ambiguity. Do I enjoy group activities?
Yes I like to sit in a circle, no I do not want
to join a gang. Do I consider myself a leader?
Yes I enjoy giving piano lessons, no I do not
want to lead a strike or unionize inmate labor.
My true answers go unrecorded as only yes or
no are acceptable.

The last question drives in the crucifying nail.
it's one reason why there will be no release.
Is it right to steal for what I need or want?

Silence

Silence.

The officer looks up from her screen. Is it right to
steal for what you need or want?

The right answer is ready to leap out of my mouth.
The answer this officer wants to hear.

The words come. The wrong words.

If you and I were friends imprisoned in the same camp.
If you have been locked up since age fifteen.
If you are never getting out of prison.
If today is your seventy-fifth birthday.

Yes.

I would definitely steal the ingredients
...from the prison kitchen,
...........from Aramark,
....................from the billion-dollar budget for Florida's prison,
..............................from the tax payers,

to make you a birthday cake with a candle to blow out.