The Ward


What’s your name?

What’s your name?

What’s your name?

…Hey

What’s your name?

…Hey, man

What’s your name?

What’s your name?

What’s your name?

MIKE! Mike.

My name is MIKE.

…what’s your name?

Oh hey. I’m Fred.

…nice to meet you, Fred. 


I wasn’t even in The Ward myself yet

and YET, I already had gotten a taste. 

I felt awful, leaving her here, with THEM.

Schizophrenics, manic-depressives, nymphomaniacs…

And, there too, my sweet Sophie G. 

Hands in her pockets,

with two casual dimples;

A beautifully blonde smile,

with a symmetrical concave-ness.


She didn’t deserve The Ward, but, me, Officer Obie,

And all the king's mustachioed men

At the PoliceOfficersStation agreed…

She needed it, the infamous jumping 

“Porch girl”. 


“Shoot me” 

someone inside of her shouted as  

She climbed onto the porch chair,

wearing nothing but a robe, 

arms outstretched in a Cristo Rey fashion.

With a cup in one hand and a lit cigarette in another, 

a nipple peeking out from the loose robe.


She pluralistically grimaced, fighting inside herself. 

Fighting with herself

Fighting against herself

Fighting for her life

Fighting, just fighting.

Self-sabotage, live, in real-time.


“Don’t jump!” Yelled four mustachioed men, 

hands on their tasers. 

“Take her away, boys”

Into the wagon she went.


A vegetarian, she was presented with (1)

dry turkey sandwich, dry, sand dry, 

like a mouth full of beach. 

Starving upon waking up, she ate it down. 

In the holding cell…

for holding dry turkey sandwiches.

The next morning, eggs with a side of

EGGS


Round two of five…

You D.I.D. survive

Afterward, you thrive

Wellness, you contrive


It’s now you arrive

It’s now you’re alive

It’s now you have drive

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