Another excerpt from my prison journal, and another portrait of one of the men with whom I served my sentence.
ERIC
Saddest of all of
us,
he can’t figure it
out.
He limps weakly
to his kitchen
station,
where the insults
find in him
the perfect
foil.
For some reason the
source eludes
him.
His eyes unmistakably plea
for my singular
kindness.
Sadder for me
still,
no way to change
his lot.
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