Death Row
My friend; I met him on death row.
I found him on the internet.
My family tried to tell me no,
that it wasn’t good. But anyway, we met.
I traveled down to visit him then
in his jail, where he did time
and met a bunch of other men
he was in there with. It was sublime.
I’d never been popular before.
But now, I was one of the few women they’d seen in years.
I hated to walk out that door
after visits, and face my worst fears
like the protesters outside,
the ones that wanted my boyfriend dead.
They said they’d party when he died.
I felt like bashing them over the head.
I gave him commissary money
so he could buy his hot sauce.
But then he started finding it funny
to act like he was my boss.
He and I had a contact visit
where he really went too far.
He raped me, said “This is nice, is it.”
Afterwards I just ran out to my car.
I didn’t attend his execution
even though I was invited.
I never went back to that institution
and to let him down I was quite delighted.
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