Poem 4

Dramatic Monologue Matt Steel


There he stands, hands in chains
A dangerous criminal, or so the judge claims
Metal links, metal sinks, paper cups for cafeteria drinks
Not his wife’s cooking, no his daughter’s crafts
Not there to see his son’s draft
“Go long dad, catch!” he would say
So they’d just sit and throw the ball around all day
They grow up quick, that’s how the old saying goes
In a cell feeling sick
at the thought of the life he chose
Everyday he sees the faces of his family and friends in the back of his eyes
As the days go on, apathy quickly dawns
as he knows in the end everyone dies
stuck in a box, day in and day out
But why? Something vile and evil no doubt
Rapist, insane? Killer, disturbed?
A good man, a foreman, just sold the herb.
A friend,
now foe
let the corrupt police know
his name
his phone
so they would let him go
back in to the streets
a second degree murderer, now free
You must think “This is absurd, a murderer?! This can’t be!”
In the eyes of the stupid, murder just ‘aint as vile as fifty pounds, you see
They say he’ll be free,
with good behaviour indeed
in a high security hell
violence is a need
So there he stands, not ignorant, he knows
twenty fife to life’s just not a joke
Why wait until sixty, surely end it quick
A shoelace and a bunkbed should do the trick
One more soul not helped, not told
Left to “live”, rot, and grow old
To die and be removed from that sick, gray little room
be replaced with another husband, father, son
to be left to his life of gloom.