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Inmate’s Lament

Dilapidated dorms, cloistered court yards
Wrinkled sidewalks, rutted roads, pit holes thump
Squawking doors, crunching windows- toilets rage
Locks explode, hints of freedom, clacking keys

Cliques chittering, snarking rabble-rousers
Truant trouble-makers, free-loading freaks
The old and infirmed, youngsters hunt in packs

Pompous gods*, control freaks with dinky feet
Women in uniforms, force of nature
Sacramento visits, nothings improved
Not all crooks are jailbirds, some do work here

Justice is blind to inmates; It’s just us!
Prison reform, a war lost- surely was
Lifer’s lament, my home away from home

*god= guards on duty

📬

These stories arrive by mail.

Every month, a physical envelope arrives at your door, postmarked from San Quentin Village, California. Inside, you will find original artwork, writing, and recipes from real contributors, along with a personal letter from me, Diane Kahn, founder of Humans of San Quentin, about the people who made them. You read it. You keep it.

Every piece comes from someone serving a sentence. Every piece reminds you they are so much more than that.

📬 Join the Mail Club

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