blue skies

he tells you
about the beans and rice
in jail.
how he shared a cell,
his bunk
just below
another bunk.
a toilet and a basin
in the corner.
a steel shaved mirror.
his roommate serving
twenty seven years,
and he just
ninety days.
but together,
they live, play
cards in the cinder
block room.
telling lies to one
another, staring
at the bluest
of skies
outside the barred window
as if never having seen one
before.