getting out

you see it
sometimes in the boy
pushing
carts
from the parking
lot.
in his eyes
that flash
of light, the hint
at something
more will
be done
with his life.
or you might see
it in
the waitress
pouring you coffee,
the poetry in
her smile, the way
she moves,
bends, looks at
herself
in the reflection
of a window.
she's left this job.
she's already
gone.
and then there are
those who are
there today
and every tomorrow,
with no way out,
no thought
of clipping
the wires and crawling
under the fence,
accepting
their place in
the world as a final
stop.