Thursday afternoon

It’s a Thursday afternoon,

And I long for the wind in my face.

A light breeze tickling my cheeks 

And teasing the tips of my fro.

I long to watch people pass by 

while I sit still in my moving car;

My hands steering my path to where I’d like to be.

I’m sure you know what I mean.

Wishing to be carefree and unperturbed;

travelling state to state, 

and experiencing different cultures from different folks.

Enriching my soul how I know to,

and running from the poison of dictatorship.

Instead here I am strapped in a gurney like a helpless baby,

subjected to exactly what I was afraid of in my dreams 

and my waking moments .

It’s a Thursday afternoon alright,

but I’m not free.

 

The breeze is still and I’m in no car.

Sweat drips down my neck as I listen to the moans of my fellow inmates.

This place is meant to help us heal;

a haven,

but we get sicker everyday.