Donuts in Kid-Jail

Here is how often you see donuts in kid-jail: never. Zero

times. Like seeing a cat or a dog, a cell phone. A white

kid, a comfy chair. Just me and this one kid, same kid

who wrote Monkey Rescue first time we worked together.

He saved Junior from a fire, then they got high by the pool.

I drew hearts and stars in the margins, helped spell “monkey,”

wrote great job! They gave this kid two donuts, a small

carton of milk, and we wrote imitations of “One Art,” me

with no breakfast yet. My stomach growled. The kid

looked up, both of us remembering I have a body. That

everybody gets hungry, whether or not they are free.

This cracked us up, and he offered me a donut. So I said

You are a sweetheart and I am never going to eat your donut.

Which made no sense to him. Dude, I have a car and money—

I can walk out of here and buy a dozen as soon as you finish

this poem. So he kept working. An empty classroom, “One Art,”

sharp pencil, still room. What are some things you have lost?

Mother, Father, Sister. Grandmother, school, ring. Country.

Bracelet. My stomach kept growling, we kept laughing, he

kept offering me a donut. Donut as distraction. Donut:

a gift. Finally he said Look, I’m going to go pee. Then you

can eat the donut with no one watching. Donut as test!

He left, and I said to the guard, Hey I’m going to eat

that kid’s donuts real quick-like while he’s gone. And the guard

was horrified, said he’d give me five bucks to not touch

the kid’s donuts, explained donuts are hard to come by

in juvie, blah blah blah blah donuts. While I’m like i was just

donuts! Kid came back, and we finished his draft, which

he asked me to keep till next time. And I drove away, past

Forest Hills and new condo construction, Blissful Monkey

yoga studio, Whole Foods. Parked my car and walked into my

house, where no one hurts me, where I eat whatever I want.