‘Rhyme Doin’ Time’
A column for people to express their concerns via the pen!
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Poetry
Our Plight, My Sight: A poem about not being able to access the right reading glasses
I came to gaol ‘cause done the wrong,
Was drinkin’ whiskey ’n smokin’ bongs.
When corner came I did not see,
The turning road, just like a vee.
At speed it rolled to grinding stop,
Atop my head, my glasses not.
Now sit in cell of nought to read,
The glasses gone! Of what I need!
I ask the system, to provide,
For that, my sight be magnified.
I need a choice for me to pick,
But only 4’s will do the trick!
But alas at Woodford, ain’t no claims,
For only 2’s are in the frames.
Maybe time! They’ll see our plight,
To give me 4’s and then my sight.
Date Published
November 11, 2025
By Janali
Cold blows the wind tonight, sweetheart, cold are the drops of rain, cold are the four walls of my cell, so cold I shall remain.
ISSUE NO. 28
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2 MIN READ