Correction officer I am
In this cell block,
Or corridor of men 

Where inmates dressed in orange
Sit at a table playing cards
Watching television
And stepping on hollow
Milk cartons hard.

Their time passes as they sigh.
They write letters to people who care
About their past life
Their innocence
And their goodbye.

 I’ll tell on my neighbor
I’ll tell on my friend
Because it might diminish my charges
And make this
Jail time bit end.

 But the irony is clear
Please and Thank you I hear
As I walk along the tier,
Among the corridor of men.

 Sometimes they disrespect me
Sometimes they make me laugh.
How does it feel
To look down the empty glass
Of a half carafe.

By

Kelley Moore

Used with Special Permission of the Author
Copyright © March 28, 2008 - All Rights Reserved
and may not be duplicated without permission

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