By Paul, Guest poet
Melon baller, melon baller, your purpose is clear
Your life will be easy, you’ve no need to fear.
The mission is simple, much like your life
My insane yet mundane melon-balling device.
You appear to be dreary, grey and so bleak;
so tacky, exactly, and built to be weak.
You live such a cheap, meagre existance;
you’re replaced when you break, for not more than a sixpence.
So what do you do when no melon’s in sight?
You’re aching and shaking, no chance for delight.
The cravings grow strong, and so does the hate
The drought must end now, so I can partake.
I don’t play pool, paint, or go fishing
For balling fruit is my solitary mission
I ball to make the day more bright,
I ball to fill the lonely nights.
My son Paul wrote this while in prison. He was given three weeks solitary confinement for brewing hooch, and had to find ways to fill his time, and stop him from going crazy. He told me that at the point when he wrote this poem he felt as if he was losing his mind.
Being in lock up may make a person crazy, but so does drinking hooch. fortunately he had the opportunity to ponder that thought, and when he saw – through his barred windows – a hooched-up inmate violently attack another prisoner he felt responsible and realized that selling hooch in prison is a dangerous crime, even if it is the most carefully made hooch anyone has ever drunk…