Infected corpuscles in worn-out body trudging up rusted iron steps to an old halfway house. Paid for my crime.  I was cast out of my house because of it and so that’s who I am, I guess.  I did it, no denying that and now gotta get on with my life.

Still a felon, an outlaw. The fucked-up system and my neighbors continue to be my wardens.  I got no employment worth going to. Yes, it’s a job and I’m thankful to God for it but they watch me and they don’t pay enough to keep my family fed.  I might have to do something else to survive.

Artwork by Glynn B. Cartledge