Why There's Three Chairs Poem by Tom J. Mariani

The first question
You're asked
When you arrive is

What do you declare
It's not like customs
About what you are carrying

The guards have other ways
For checking for that
Without asking

The guards want to know
For your protection
And theirs

What race do you declare
What are your gang affiliations
Do you need protective custody

Your race decides a lot for you
Decides who they'll house you with
Determines when

You'll be locked down
Allowed on the Yard
If you need an escort

It all depends
On your answer
To that first question

Yes they'll get around
To asking you if you want to harm yourself
Or others

What meds you're on
Do you hear voices
But above all race matters

For your protection
To minimize the potential
Of fights in a two man cell

The guards try
To match you up
The best they can

With someone you can tolerate
Locked in a five by nine-foot cell
Twenty-two hours a day

Outside the cells
By the guards' station
You can see the three chairs

Behind each chair
Bolted to the wall
Is a locked metal box

They all contain identical
Hair-cutting supplies
Seperate but equal

The first box is painted black
The second box red
The third white

The contents and the corresponding
Barber chairs are for Blacks
Hispanics/Others and Whites

And only for Black
Hispanic/Other and White
Barbers

Make no mistakes
The inmates enforce the rules
The unwritten rules