The Model Prisoner Poem by John F. McCullagh

He showers each day,
and he takes out the trash.
He works in the garden at times.
Mostly he sits in his cell and he reads.
He has never admitted his crime.

He seldom gets visitors
and hasn’t made many friends.
He sits by himself at mealtimes.
He serves a life sentence-no hope of parole
Until death he’ll remain here inside.

Conjugal visits? It’s been several years.
Since last she was seen by his side.
At lights out, sometimes,
you can hear gentle sobbing
as a little bit more of him dies.