Poem of the Week: Untitled by Rob Trousdale


When biting into a baguette; or
Getting a back scratch from mom; or
Sipping on a Muddy Waters cocktail.

I remember the screams.
From hidden cells.
Inside the Hennepin County Public Safety Facility.

And it all just turns to shit.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *