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A Prisoner’s Library
“For hym was levere have at his beddes heed
Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed…”
-Chaucer, on his Clerk of Oxenford
A prisoner’s bunk is also his library
His few books neatly stacked next to his head
A bible and maybe its commentary
Self-improvement pamphlets, a novel or two
A prisoner’s bunk is his home for now
Some pencils and a writing tablet, and notes
And letters hugged up with a rubber band
So in the night his tears can touch them still
A prisoner’s life is his university -
But, hey, spaghetti again for dinner?
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