The judge’s gavel fell,

Eight years in a concrete Hell,

Maybe only five,

If all goes well.

 

Handcuffs on,

Marched from the court,

Stunned and silent,

Placed in a holding cell.

 

The van arrives,

Off I go,

The van is fast,

But my mind is slow.

 

A bump,

A lurch,

I almost fall off my perch,

A hiss of brakes and all is still.

 

The door flies open,

A guard appears,

Beyond him a doorway beckons,

The entrance to another world.

 

My clothes are taken,

My body searched,

A uniform is issued,

And I become a number.

 

I join the line of new receptions,

And leave behind my preconceptions,

I am taken to a single cell,

For this my new found Hell.

 

© Julian Knight 2008