It was Monday,3: 00 a.m. <br />the ugliest hour of <br />any week. <br />It had half rained <br />that night, or <br />God decided we <br />were all bad girls and boys <br />and we needed to <br />be spit upon. <br /> <br />My young lady baby <br />had not given up <br />on the night just yet. <br />It still had chocolate, <br />a manicure and a <br />movie going for it. I had <br />given up on it <br />hours earlier. But then <br />again, I hate Mondays. <br /> <br />I realize all mothers say <br />this, but this girl who once <br />lived inside of me, is now a most <br />beautiful young lady baby. Her shadow <br />betrayed her. A perfect silhouette <br />glowed by moonlight. <br /> <br />At the stroke of three, the real <br />world tried to smash head <br />first into our home. Like fingernails <br />to a chalk board, the chords of <br />breaking glass became the <br />only sound left on Earth. <br /> <br />Thanks to an over achieving dog, <br />and a father with a gun- <br />don't forget the secret weapon- <br />An insane mother with a baseball bat and <br />a meat cleaver. Brimming with <br />no fear, or regard for <br />her own life. He never got near or <br />young lady baby. <br /> <br />Her sense of peace has been <br />replaced with a regal slap in the <br />face by a future lifer at Angola State <br />Prison, I'm sure. <br /> <br />Just seventeen, our young lady baby <br />has met fear. No Santa Claus, or <br />Easter Bunny. Sorry baby girl, <br />your safe Catholic school way of <br />white bread life is now toast.<br /><br />Robin Bennett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/messages-to-a-future-prison-lifer/
