5:48 - May 13, 2001

(c) May 13, 2001

Several different melodies
I hear outside the bars
Bluejays are bringing morning
To the world that has no song

The winded guard is pacing
at each door he stops and peers
into darkness and dusty cells
to see if we're still here

I get up and wash my face
brush my teeth and hair
then light the days first smoke
as the fog begins to clear

Soon the doors will open
We'll file from the block
shuffle down the corridor
to stand in line for slop

Breakfast done I must return
to my cell my home
give way to thoughts of gray
and try to find a poem

Early morning in the pen
its the same dull spin
One more day to think persay
of what I might have been

by Ricky D. McKean

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