Habeas

It’s like Death Row, but with
bedrails instead of bars and
windows where the walls
would be—windows that won’t
open, though, and muralized walls
designed to deliver a sense of
sea-spray or new-mown mornings.

One thing’s the same for both:
boredom, boredom, boredom.
About half the inmates hope to
get out alive; the balance are
resigned to only watch and wait,
some among the cinderblocks
some amid the buzzers, plastic
tubes, and sanitizers. Some
day soon, they all believe (and
rightly so, one must suppose)
all their trials will finally be over.

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