Imprisoned — 1986 Poem


Touch the little bugs in the garden

and they roll into tight balls.

The possum plays dead to the world,

and the turtle hides inside his cell.

And the man? Somebody is

in need of help, but he sits

there daring you to help,

a tough guy,  inmate, con,

you name it.

His mama’s baby boy. But he

don’t need no help. Just sits

there, indifferent, on his bunk,

tough guy, all alone

in the crowded dorm.

His mama’s baby boy; tough

turtle doing troubled time.


About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 83 now.
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