I glanced towards his face
Tumble weeds drifted by
He looked older than before
He’d aged like his brother
His face was drawn
He said my name
I did not recognized him at first
But then the memories flooded back
I asked where he had been.
“Porridge” was the state
It showed in his face
This friend an institutionalized statistic now
Not the fresh faced school boy he once was
I asked him how he got there
“Stupid thing” he replied “I kept getting caught”
We sat down on the bench and shared a cigarette
He explained how he had lost his wife, his children
His past had dissolved within
Yes a statistic now
For him now it is too late
Prison cost him his fate.

Posted in Poem No Comments »