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Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Poetry by Terrance Tucker

Restricted Housing Unit

I stood still
Surrounded
By blue steel and
White concrete walls
He watched
Through plexi-glass
I pass my shorts, socks
And t-shirt
Through a slot.
I show my hands
Peel back my ears
Open my mouth, shift
My penis and balls
I turn around spread
My cheeks and wiggle
My toes.
Robbed of more than
Liberty
During a routine
Strip search
Left with only the
Dirty feeling of
Standing on a filthy
Floor barefoot, naked
Obsessing over the
Compulsion to scrub
My itchy feet.
Just like a primitive man I adapt
Growing out of my
Self-diagnosed OCD
As the hair on my
Face grows into my
Mouth, in a caveman’s
Fashion I get use to
Tasting moustache
With every bite.


Orange jump-suit
Resembling a ball
of fire
handcuffed, escorted on a
leash feeling like
a beast. Wanting
howl, scream and behave
as if I lack intellect
 Giving into my
Animalistic desires.
I began to look forward
To yard in a cage
A few feet bigger
Than a cell, that
Made me think of
A baby calf and
I remembered why I
Stopped eating veal
Long before I stopped
eating red meat.
It’s torture. The
Torture I feel is
real, every time I
get cuffed in this
small cage of rage
I feel like veal.
A piece of meat
Intended to stay
Tender, so I move
Constantly—running
In place.
Moustache over my lip,
Beard growing into
My eyes, hair racing
Down my neck.
I run wild
Refusing to allow
My meat to spoil
In this hell on
Earth.
.
©Terrance Tucker 2014
.
The Bus Ride
I sat shackled, handcuffed
Right hand over left hand
Attached to another man’s
Right hand who I didn’t know
We didn’t exchange names
Alicia Keys boomed
On this bumpy ride
I knew her name
Wish she knew mine.
I stared out the window
Watching people waiting
For the bus
Instead of being loaded
onto one.
I wished I was one
Of them. Out in the
Chill, exhaling thick cold
Air that you could see.
They wore uniforms
Nurses, Janitors and Mechanics.
Name tags adorned their shirts
I wish I wore a name tag
That wasn’t followed
by a number.
I could have been a mechanic or janitor
My life in need
Of fixing and cleaning.
The light now green
We moved on slowly
The way life does
When all your time is idle
I was facing death
Riding through Center
City—in the city
Of Brotherly love
On trial for a killing
A brother. I thought about
The liberty bell
I felt like the crack in it
The ugly part of
Something beautiful
Stories lined Market Street
Mannequins posed in windows
Wearing clothes I’d stolen
Clothes I’d sold drugs to wear
Now I wear County Blues
And State Browns.
A lady caught my attention
She moved fast in heels
Briefcase clutched
She looked like success
I imagined walking with her
Discussing business, brunch
Sex, kids and retirement.
When we turned
Into the courthouse garage
I wish we kept straight
Wish I kept straight.


©Terrance Tucker 2014


Terrance Tucker EZ7394
SCI Graterford
P.O. Box 244
Graterford, PA 19426-0244