The last thing Roland asked
before his release
We’re friends right
I didn’t know how to tell Roland
no we aren’t friends
we’re cellmates
The next Sunday
local papers called his death
accidental drowning
As if there’s another kind I said to my new cellmate
In my cell I dream of Roland
– with a captain’s hairstyle and a coffee cup
on a tall stool facing the window
I see what he sees
looking out on a bitter street
Signage cast backward in gray
A woman outside wrapped in flannel
brushing her Lasa Apso
on the run to her car
He jots a note about her
in the margin of his book
but I can’t see that
What the fuck
Just down the street
a man with a big dog
is being arrested
For what
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