“Why? Why?” Mother begged.
We stood in the prison visitors’ line, our two brown bags
packed with fruit, salami, cartons of cigarettes.
Snow drifted into our shoes.
She wanted me to stay overnight
in a trailer with her and my brother, the family together.
I would not.
Prison construction exceeded all other industry.
One of the years he was inside was declared
New York State’s Year of the Prison.
