Justice in Awe
A poem by Kaylah Morgan
One hundred and seventeen days down
I hear the guards discussing
the incident in Ferguson
with calm tones they always use
with one another. One guard argues
That nigger was up to no good.
The group agrees. I swallow my rebellious response
accompanied by my pride in a single gulp.
Are these really the fuckers in ‘control’ of me?
It’s time for lunch. The guards pause
their profound round-table discussion.
My cell is opened by the guard
who called Mike Brown the n-word.
MOVE IT, INMATE!
(His tone is no longer calm)
I sit at my usual table for lunch
for the hundred and eighteenth time.
I look down at my tray -Cool-
Only 2 maggots today.
Rico finds me. Rico can find anything.
He slips me something under the table.
I got you somethin’,foo.
I quickly erase my grin.
The guards see suspicion in a smile.
I open my hot Cheetos from the bottom,
like I did when I was a kid.
As I rest my head on my case-less
cardboard pillow, I hear the call for lights out
and await the drowning darkness that always follows.
One hundred and eighteen days down.