The yellow locust
lining the prison driveway,
are ash white
at first light.
The dawn
is as slow as the guard
releasing
the day.
Turning a page
beats scratching lines
in the wall,
time after short short time.
The journey home,
interrupted,
thanks the waitress
for real cutlery.
You can read the cup bottom
through the coffee, but it ain't free.
Another proof of
liberty.
Walk a mile translates
to hours and hours
behind the wheel,
facing forward.
A sentence ends
with a dull dot,
a chapter begins
with a single word