Dinners for Sinners

Dinners For Sinners

I wake up every morning at five thirty
Not because I’m grimy or dirty

But because the man yells chow
It’s not even food, but hell I’ll eat it now

Then after I eat I’ll go back to sleep
I wish I could do so for at least a week

Next time for I will wake, it not to be opposite a steak
But a shitty shank tray, with out even some cake

A little while longer, I sit, read and ponder
I wait to eat some more and let my mind wander

So here comes the last meal of the day
I wish the cooks to be fired, sent far away

For the food is utterly disgusting
Later to be on the toilet ass a busting

After sitting on the royal throne
I’ll try to go to sleep as I did once at home

This IS the life of an inmate
So value you life, don’t break your plate

Jail Poetry
By: Gregory Smitheman


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