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Mass Incarceration, Then and Now

The New Yorker Radio Hour

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I Robbed Ma This Months Before.

At two a m without enough spirits spilling into my liver to know to keep my mouth shut, my youngest learned of years i spent inside a box. I was under, not whisky, but history. He would drop bucket after bucket on opposing players and he leaping, as if every lay up erases something. So when he tells me, daddy is so ka, i know what's happening. If some straggling angel, loss from his pack, findin a way to fulfil his duty. Lending words to this kid who crawls inter my arms wantin more than stories of my prisonen to sleep that he fought while i held court at a bar with men who knew that when

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