If I were San Quentin,
I would hold the key
to everything evil.
My heart would beat
with the tattooed fists
of men sentenced
into my keep, boys gone
crazy as their crimes.
I’d feel like guilt
most of the time. I’d be a maze
of whispers and lies. Truth,
if it existed at all, would arrive
in shackles, whimper and fold
on death row.
I’d have rats for eyes.
I would hold you close
and gnaw on your will. Time
would stagger, stumble and fall
still as their victims.
If I were San Quentin,
I’d have an IQ
of ten. I’d clatter and clank
the whole night through.
I’d hone my shank
and lower my pants.
I’d show you the sorriest
crack of an ass
if I were San Quentin.
.
Richard Rensberry, author at QuickTurtle Books
from The Wolf Pack Moon http://amzn.to/1PjFD6P
Poet's Corner 