My attitude
about my situation,
it strikes some as weird.
After all, I’m serving life
and have done so now
going on fifteen years.
“Don’t you ever want to get out?”
they ask. “What about all
you are missing; all life’s
niceties–surely there is
something in the free world
you miss–a decent meal, a
relationship, the choices not
found in prison?” And I can
only smile my self-conscious grin,
and wonder if my eyes look opaque.
Sometimes I try to explain my
thinking; that this is my, life,
the one I bought, and am paying for.
But it doesn’t register, so instead
I say, all sales are final, and
leave it- at that.
All Sales Are Final
