Remember Shawshank Redemption? Remember that prison,
Ancient edifice of grim stone holding in the horrors. All I remember:
Not getting to finish my bubble gum lollipop. No outside food,
A rule of prison visiting. My uncle was a guest there for some years.
Probably drugs, he would loll in Gramma’s brown leather chair,
Lit cigarette dangling from nerveless fingers, eyes almost closing.
Maybe robbery, yet he broke a credit card trying to open our front door
When he accidentally locked us out of our house.
Prisons, more prisons, then an absolute silence. For years.
Gramma kept praying at the Catholic shrine she kept
In the back bedroom, candles glowing under a picture of him,
Shirtless and relaxing in that brown leather chair.
When he finally began reaching out, he had a wife, newer kids,
A job working on oil rigs, making good money, bought a house.
Living the American dream, maybe even a retirement plan.
Things happen, the rig blew up, the safety device slowing things down,
He was saving a friend and lost almost all of his skin.
Living still, he became a millionaire! Riches, luxury homes,
Bought a few new fingers & toes to replace those lost in the fire.
He became benevolent, buying cars and homes for everyone!
(Not for me, of course, I am the nothing of the family)
Things continue to happen, heroin a relief from painful throbbings,
Nerve endings still raw from the flames. He lasted fifteen years,
Longer than any doctor’s rumblings, before asking (begging)
His son to give him that final relief, to give him that final redemption.
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