Jail Mail Poem

by James Guhn

Written on November 27, 2016

I scan inmate mail, reading men’s rhyme attempts,

And think to myself, “these poor girls: getting gypped.”

They drone on and still more about lovin’ and missin’,
With every cliché about huggin’ and kissin’.

From her neck to her nethers, saying things not polite,
These men of the jail think their ladies delight.

But all I can hope is these women turn ill,

As my stomach contents, my mouth they do fill.

Please stop writing nonsense ‘bout your lady’s looks.
When all you are asking is for money on your books.

And if she’s too foolish to see through your con,
Remember she’s sleeping with others while you’re gone.