They’re going to lock me up & down

in the woman’s penitentiary,

whole tens of years, yard after prison yard.

They’re going to make me wear female stripes.

And stars are in my eyes, I’m crying through the decades pacing

round the grounds.

Beg yes I beg,

write letters, big and bold wave flags. Save stamps

and first day covers.

How many years? That’s not a complete sentence the guard


I twirl and furl and cartwheel past

barb wire and German Shepards

and towers of mud,

churlish sentries shouldering arms.

Don’t beg my mother says

just ask nicely.

We’ve outlawed hanging

no more swings—

its death by numbers now and I am begging

to be numero uno, de acuerdo?

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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