The Walk

The facade, stoic exterior and imposing entry edifice.
Officiousness, imprinted in the bricks.
Institutional architecture, rising in front,
as one walks the walk.

I go voluntarily, many others do not.
Through sally ports, clanging automatic heavy metal grills.
Then, a hush, contrasting quiet to the cacophony of clanging,
walking down the corridors of convicts.

In a short walk, a world of unimpeded movement
and open possibilities is gone.
Joining the throngs of the misused and users,
liars and thieves. Addicts all, to power, violence, drugs. Convicts.

On my walk, I greet the gatekeeper, the keeper of the keys.
Everyday, within me, the same question, "Will I be their prey today?"
Safety requires it, sanity precludes it.
And so, on my walk, I pray a silent prayer each day.

Fear shown is a loss of control. Compassion, caring,
freely given is regaining control-the reason to be here.
In a short walk, I can choose to make a difference,
to give this walk meaning and significance.

For the inmates, their daily walk: Razor wire, pepper gas,
riot batons. Shanks, hooch, shakedown, lock down.
Death row, a short walk. I'm a visitor, eight a day.
On staff but on death row too. That's the truth, life's way.