Prison As Metaphor Poem by Michael Philips

The time was almost right
for the recitation of a poem
when the judge asked me
if I had anything to say before sentencing.

I wanted to say Yes – why the 'anything to say' ritual?
To make me squirm
before the varnished gavel comes down?
Oh, and why the gavel ritual?

But I said No.
I am guilty
so there is nothing else you need to know about me,
My crime, not me,
sits in a cell with green walls
When I arrived I would not lie down
Because that would make it my home

A voice on the radio says
“My life feels like prison.”
I want them to use a different metaphor.
One that doesn’t suck my life up
and turn it into a little diorama with plastic figurines
in aluminum foil chains
Behind bars made of pretzels
As if I could eat my way out of here