Messages To A Future Prison Lifer Poem by Robin Bennett

It was Monday,3: 00 a.m.
the ugliest hour of
any week.
It had half rained
that night, or
God decided we
were all bad girls and boys
and we needed to
be spit upon.

My young lady baby
had not given up
on the night just yet.
It still had chocolate,
a manicure and a
movie going for it. I had
given up on it
hours earlier. But then
again, I hate Mondays.

I realize all mothers say
this, but this girl who once
lived inside of me, is now a most
beautiful young lady baby. Her shadow
betrayed her. A perfect silhouette
glowed by moonlight.

At the stroke of three, the real
world tried to smash head
first into our home. Like fingernails
to a chalk board, the chords of
breaking glass became the
only sound left on Earth.

Thanks to an over achieving dog,
and a father with a gun-
don't forget the secret weapon-
An insane mother with a baseball bat and
a meat cleaver. Brimming with
no fear, or regard for
her own life. He never got near or
young lady baby.

Her sense of peace has been
replaced with a regal slap in the
face by a future lifer at Angola State
Prison, I'm sure.

Just seventeen, our young lady baby
has met fear. No Santa Claus, or
Easter Bunny. Sorry baby girl,
your safe Catholic school way of
white bread life is now toast.