Row upon row of blue metal bunk beds,
And sorry looking padding
Too skinny to be called mattresses.
There are three men doing something to all the beds,
Searching for weapons or drug paraphernalia
No doubt.
“See," says Phil,
“How they have a glassed room,
For the guards to look out from?
It really creates that
‘Us versus Them’ mentality."
I guess the tour’s moving on;
We’re being ushered out
The other cell door,
To the rooftop,
Just as they’re all
Herded back inside.
I couldn’t have gone first!
I’m glad I’m in the back.
How could they have planned so badly?
We have to walk right past them!
So many young men;
So many black faces;
Don’t let them catch my eye.
There aren’t any catcalls,
Like I expected;
Just a "Shirley Temple" remark about my hair;
And a voice,
That speaks to all of us;
A voice that was heard by me:
“Don’t be afraid to look."
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