24/2/2019
If you really want to know
The way it goes
On the inside
Look at the cell searches
When the screws come chasing
The inevitable contraband
It’s not so much the violation of our space
“They treat us like criminals”
But what they find
After demolishing our kitchen
The cupboards and the fridges emptied
The panels unscrewed
The draws broken
They tell us
We found four syringes
Two mobile phones
And a tattoo gun
And we know there’s more
Somehow after all that
The searches and the sniffer dogs
The penalties and the box visits
Half the jail is still high on Suboxone
More often than not
And the fresh tattoos show up
With startling regularity
When the searches are over
The pod cleaned up
And one inmate tipped back to maximum security
We kick back with a smoke
And a coffee
And some of us write a poem
Cell or living area searches are one of the most disheartening aspects of jail. If the screws are in the mood to ruffle feathers they go to town on everything. They pull everything apart, empty out bins, tear posters of the wall and completely trash the place you’re unfortunate enough to call home. More often than not the searches will show up all kinds of contraband and punishments follow. A search day is not a good day…
