My Sweet Prison
Hiding in another poemI come here where no one will hear me
and
Scream into this box
and then I
dry my clothes and wait
for the buzzer
then I
whisper into this box
please
please
please
why me
why trees
why flowers in her hair
Why Tiananmen Square
I will not go there
where people gather
with little pictures to share
I am a fool there and
must run and hide
inside these square walls of my sweet
prison
The last poem was My Mother Drove a Rambler by David Michael Jackson. The next poem is The Lover’s Hands Poem
