Corona confusion

This letter was written by a person incarcerated at Mule Creek.

Corona Confusion (by Prison Poet)

Now that we seem powerless,

they eat the rulebook

with all its

decorative oaths.

Their hands also touch.

Some do more

a small glance spun

from eye to badge,

enflamed by

drunk ache in bone.

Conceivable

that one, that young one

he pats him down,

not searched

that scared one, him,

that one, that’s his

himless scratch

his daily itch

made it much more penetrable.

Joe K.: inmate 66

“him” don’t know what to do,

‘he’ took “his,”

he lost it: youngster, don’t wash

evidence inside

while outside,

with smooth efficiency,

a microbe is killing

more Americans,

in America,

than 9/11,

9 times the death

by 11 times the rate,

and still increasing.

Even Joe K. Sr.,

in dismantled breaths,

unmasked,

ascends

from the Tomb of Was.

The LVN heard him go, silent alone

survivor of 9/11: victim of COVID-19

killed by a germ.

That night, he arrives.

The same cop,

(who took his),

stood outside the cell

and told him: “Hey,

your daddy’s dead.

Corona got him.”

Like a child, Joe K.,

even to the eye,

in words that whine

and find no history,

through all he felt

recalcitrant & bemused,

barely whinnied:

“My old man don’t drink!”