“Hey man, do I need to be wearing these?!”
Michael rose his arms to display thin plastic strips digging into his wrists.
“Pipe down, Jones. You got a time out and you take it – or do you want to go back to your cell?”
Michael Jones blew in frustration, dropping his hands to his lap and thudding the back of his head to the wall. Through the thick glass of the door he watched as orange-clad men fed metal strips into presses, their heads bent low.
The lines were long: the penance unending.
“No Sir,” Michael sighed. “I do not.”
(c) Tim Austin. Image by Miguel A Ramirez via Unsplash.
Not being political, not being political, not being political,………
My generous thanks to long-time follower and supporter of the OWOS project Sarah Doughty of Heartstring Eulogies. Check out her poetry here – I can’t recommend it highly enough.
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