BY LAWRENCE “MACK” HALL

In the system, they’re called offenders.

No one knows why; the offenses are over.

Concrete dorms, three-high bunks, white uniforms,

And overhead the sting of fluorescents.

I’m not going all Pollyanna here.

All of them know the poisonous passions of meth.

The stench of blood, the sting of fluorescents,

In fearing eyes in a gas station at night.

The stench of cells, the sting of fluorescents,

In glaring eyes in the booking area at night.

Humiliations, transports, stripped and searched.

Form a straight line with hands behind your backs.

But still, a man’s a man.

The difference between a man inside the wire,

And a man outside the wire

Is often only that one man is inside the wire,

And the other man is outside the wire.

“For all have sinned…”

Christmas is coming.

Will there be a letter from home?

St. Jude, help all of us to be better men.

In spite of ourselves.