Telling family tales
outside of the family
could get you
locked up tight
with no letters
or visitors
even on weekends.
Seasons would pass
with no
birthday parties
or other proof
of recognition
that you drew breath.
You’d be no more
than a piece of
cobwebbed furniture
in a storage facility.
And if you protested,
if you wanted more
than they thought
you deserved,
if your brain
was too loud
and your thoughts
too bright,
if the meds
and high voltage
weren’t enough,
there was always
the icepick.
Rust Belt Review #7