Beaches & Prisons

I sit on the beach under a Caribbean sun. The police come in like leaves on a storm. They haul me out of my chair and take me away. I glance back at the ocean. They take me to a prison. The walls are tall and the place is sad but the light of the Caribbean shines in. I see and long to be back outside. The prison overlooks the ocean and I make my escape. I run down the coast and into the ocean. I swim in the shallows back to where I was arrested. It wasn’t very far. I am free. I go into town and express my freedom to close friends. I am in a cantina, the fans spin overhead, the walls are yellow, and the chairs old and wooden. My friend expresses fright at me escaping. I express victory.


~ by Aaron on September 27, 2009.

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