THE WORST THING ABOUT TUSCATANI COUNTY JAIL


is that it is
filled with Pagans
or at least Heathens

according to He Who
Visits Each Sunday
like a one-man plague
of praying mantises

beloved of Angels and
the Tuscatani District Attorney

waving the Black Book of Begets
through the Bars of
Heavenly Retribution
enjoining us to repent our
Gommorran debaucheries

when our sin-caked souls
would rather follow God
as clean upright sober
married in the church
keep it in the closet
non-unionized citizens

No

the worst thing about
Tuscatani County Jail is
the Tuscatani County
Sheriff's Deputies

brandishing Rods of Truth
that the minions of Satan
imprisoned therein
backs hunched over and
turned from the Word

hollow eyes leering into
depths of unholy resentment
should speak forbidden
words of dissent to
He Who Visits us in
this free nation of God

men of justice and stone
carrying on their sacred hips
the keys to a two-fisted paradise
marching just to the right of
the thin khaki line dividing

crime from punishment
petty theft from
evidence confiscation
malicious mischief
from righteous anger
the baseball bat
from the billy club
the ten year stretch
from the Ten Commandments
the good and the bad
from the ugly

No

the worst thing about
Tuscatani County Jail is
the Saturday Night Whiskey Men
who raise their fists and
broken bottles against

riot helmets shields
service revolvers shotguns
M-16's two-way radios
advanced tactical support
armoured squad cars bearing
five-pointed silver stars

and always seem to lose
come Sunday Morning
but never admit the battle is lost
until the last man has fallen
and hey buddy you'll do

No

the worst thing about
Tuscatani County Jail is
the Straw Boss
who brags about every
jail he has been tossed into
from Laramie to Miami

(Some folks go sightseeing
at the great cathedrals
some prefer to tour
the dungeons instead)

every prison work crew
he has ramrodded
every jailhouse guard
he has brown nosed
every proud inmate
whose time he has doubled

but not every promise made
to meet up with him again
somehow someday someway
on the outside

No

the worst thing about
Tuscatani County Jail is
gathering around smeared
jailhouse windows

pickups flatbeds caddillacs
driving in and out of town
mottled pigeons vandalizing
the Tuscatani town fathers

the sight and sigh of
Tuscatani County couples
behind the courthouse
making Tuscatani love

No

the worst thing about
Tuscatani County Jail is
the nights of little sleep
unlike the nights of
little sleep on the road

where your eyes close to
a million free stars
awaken to your very own
ball of gold

instead of closing them
to your own mistakes
awakening to the snores
of everyone else's 

No

the worst thing about
Tuscatani County Jail
is the food

Oh My Lady of Hearth
and Harvest and Hardtack
Never again shall I
forswear the two-day old
box of fried chicken

after having to cook
the official Deputy Diet
of greasy cheeseburgers
sticky cream sodas
fatback fries while

we prisoners must
content ourselves with
beans and corn and
celery and tomatoes
maybe a little pepper

No

the worst thing about
Tuscatani County Jail is
one tin of sardines that
My Lady of Old Saws
warned me about

in Her little whistlings
into the back of my head
Never Steal After a Meal

that the Tuscatani Judge
would not let me keep
that I do not want to keep
will not eat smell look at

will not even buy for
at least a year because
that is the reason I am
in Tuscatani County Jail

Why couldn't I have
at least tried to
lift a smoked ham

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This poem is from On Pagan Roads Copyright © 2004 David Arv Bragi