Notes from Exile: The Guards
Log/Verse: daily reflections from prison, written every morning at my bunk. Part poem, part log book.
Another excerpt from my prison journal.
THE GUARDS
We call them COs
or cops,
or more often just
obscenities.
Does it matter?
Asshole
Mother Fucker
Douche Bag.
We garner solace
from our usual
mantra:
“They never get
to leave.”
But a few minutes
after lights out,
and in the darkness
of our tiny
beds,
they go home to
sleep.
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