to my left roland rests upright 
the only roll of toilet paper behind his neck

the rest of us consider using
our laceless shoes behind our necks

my elbow drops eight-o-eight bass on the thick metal door
outside a man with a wannabe cop cut high and tight on his neck

struts heavy thigh slapping highs from drunk tank keys
in time stares his limited power through the sweat on my neck

a man with head between knees taps
two and four on the back of his brown neck

most of us sit on the floor cleaning sweat from our necks

roland alone sleeps with the toilet paper behind his neck