Swollen Knuckles Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

From where I sit...
And I have had those opportunities,
To sit and observe from various places.
In different environments.
And conversed with an assortment,
Of those with both frowns and smiles on their faces.
I've come to notice,
The ones rehabilitated and returning from their time,
Spent incarcerated in prisons.
And so prepared to share with an uplifting.

Those same folks,
Who objected to those who sat with patience,
And had wisdom.
Only now perceive themselves,
To have acquired advice...
With a willingness to share it.
And finding themselves dismissed,
By the very ones they attempted to con.
As if to sit behind bars is the only way to learn lessons.

'OH...
I do understand where you are and where you've been.
And those frustrations you have with newfound concerns.
Oh...
I am not above thinking there is nothing I can learn.
We all make choices.
And my choice was to receive my lessons not sitting in a prison.

And since you've been rehabilitated,
You have more opportunities than I do.
My knuckles have been swollen from knocking on doors for years.
And here you are...
With a Bible and job offers.'