We Are Just Ripe Juicy Plums Poem by James McLain

How do we make it all better when they pack us
In rooms without bail.
Grim is the hope they will change in a bill their
Way of making a living that stops.

Keeping women and men packed close to each other
Their suffering ignored by the staff.
And as they cannot bond out the Judges have ignored
That this strange form of death keeps these human beings
Locked up,
While they sleep soundly and dream of them not.