Christmas In Jail! Poem by Tom Zart

They put me in prison for the deed I've done
I killed the drunk driver who crippled you, son.
Your mother, my wife, she died in the wreck
That's the reason I broke that man's neck.

His dad was a rich man, who pulled lots of strings
So well connected he could do many things.
I live in this hellhole with all sorts of men
I'm sure glad most like me and call me their friend.

The food here is so awful, I've lost many pounds
I'd rather feast on the vittles the guards toss the hounds.
At night we play cards and you don't dare cheat
For if you get caught, you'll be stomped on by feet.

Most inmates fashion some sort of knife
To help out their odds in a fight for their life
I took me a padlock and snapped it on a chain
Then hid it in my pant-leg to keep from being slain.

I get to touch you on Christmas day
It breaks hart I never see you play.
Many times you question, "Dad, when can you leave"
As the tears from your eyes drop to my sleeve.

Our visit is now over as they wheel you away
I whisper, "I love you" and you see what I say.
It's time to go back to my one-room, shared cell
And try to write a song about Christmas in jail.

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