Jailbird

Warden, release me from these four walls early for (pretty) good behavior. I’ve done my time fair and square but I’m ready and able to move on to a world outside this one. An ongoing heat wave has put temperatures above 90 for weeks on end. Foreseen changes at work have flushed my job satisfaction down the dank metal toilet. Standard issue rose-colored glasses removed, this city prison’s good is eclipsed by its persistent and prominent bad and ugly.

I’ve done my best to wait out my 30-month sentence. I’ve played nice with my cellmates. I’ve lived within these confines, accepted situations beyond my control. I’ve eaten the unfamiliar food, drank the tepid water, looked beyond the dirt and grime to squint at the blue skies above. I’ve zipped my lip against the powers that be and rules I don’t abide. I’ve been rehabilitated to not believe this city a complete wasteland and I’ll do my best to defend its principles against critics outside these walls.

But it’s time now to rid me once and for all of this steamy, sweaty and overcrowded concrete jail. Hand me my papers, roll shut the barbed wire fence, and see me down the street, until I'm just a speck on the horizon, kicking up your dust toward the Pacific sunset.

Load the car and write the note.
Grab your bag and grab your coat.
Tell the ones that need to know.
We are headed north west.
One foot in and one foot back.
But it don’t pay to live like that.
So I cut the ties and I jumped the track.
For never to return.
                                --“I and Love and You,” The Avett Brothers