her divorce lawyer
calls.
it's dragging on like a horror movie.
let's get on with it, I tell them.
should I come in and hand you my wallet.
do you need my blood type too?
they want my social security number,
apparently she doesn't have it.
what else?
my name and address? my mother's maiden
name.
the car I drive.
do I sleep on my stomach or on the left
or right side,
height weight, age. occupation.
from start to finish this nightmare
has been
painful and gone on too long.
my hand hurts from signing waivers
documents written in legalese.
my eyes are bloodshot
from reading the fine print.
fourteen months in prison and they
still won't let me out.
I bang on the bars with my metal
cup, and beg for release.
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