Bailey Buckner
Jun 18, 2018 · 1 min read

Here’s a shiny silver space blanket,

the wire monkey replacement for

whatever comfort you once knew.


And here’s the thin institutional pallet

that might separate you from the hard concrete floor

by a generous inch or two.


Close your eyes and sleep, my dear.

Avoid staring through the menacing chainlink

at strangers not your mother

and officers not your father.

Hum a familiar lullaby,

cradle it there in your chest,

and rest as well as they let you.


Sleep to dream

of something less sinister,

of people less cruel,

snatching, perhaps, a few moments

of peace during what can only be described

as torment, torture,

a hell without humanity.


Who knew the radiant North Star

would bring you to this cold place?

Sweet child,

your manger looks so strange.

Bailey Buckner

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