LEAVING DEATH ROW
Fifteen years from home and I'm maxed out.
My stuff's all packed. Boxes bulge with
Tattered legal briefs and lost appeals,
Stacks of tear-stained letters and the collection
Of haunting photographs of old girlfriends.
Can't leave without hollerin' at the homies.
The brother with no TV gets my portable zenith.
The aspiring young rapper earned my radio.
The George Jackson wanna-be needs my books.
And even though the old con downstairs
Ain't got but one leg left --
Let him have my scruffy old shoes.
Because where I'm going I won't be needing them.
I went out like this and winged back
Plenty of times --
From the lush landscapes of day dreams,
The deep blue infinity of madness,
All the way from the last minute reprieve
Of the executioner's potion --
One way or the other --
I'm leaving death row.
-Reginald Sinclair Lewis, # Ay-2902,
1040 East Roy Furman Highway
Waynesburg, PA 15370-8090
Spring 1998-- N.C.Xpress
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