Societal Satire in Shorts
Poetic Justice
S. G. Lacey
​
Reformed Rapist
I strip down until fully nude,
heeding the guard who’s always rude.
My body is covered with scars,
incurred at playgrounds and dive bars.
Being stuck in a cell,
is a new form of hell.
But my youth was tougher,
beatings growing rougher.
Hooking up with a teen freshman,
completely changed my perception.
The lude act caught on camera,
first landed me in the slammer.
That initial transgression,
turned into an obsession.
Abduction and brutal rape,
offered my only escape.
Several years in prison,
have clarified my vision.
Now guided by the Good Book,
I’ve got a new life outlook.
Yet many sins still abound,
on these dirty penal grounds.
The shower tile is cold,
littered with stories untold.
Today’s mark is in the corner,
no time to warn the poor sir.
New prisoner acclimation,
which I no longer partake in.
Standing naked and cleansed,
at last I can make amends.
But no watery spray,
can wash all my wrongs away.
White Collar Wit
Crimes in the digital space,
become quite easy to trace,
off my secret database.
Math manipulation.
Cash flow calculation.
Audit accusation.
There were financial kingpins above me,
but ratting colleagues out could turn ugly.
I’d rather preserve my family tree.
The jury made their decision.
Despite my corporate vision,
came a judgement harshly given.
My jail sentence is long,
but my strategy’s strong,
focused on the next con.
Prison started out tough.
My first cellmate was gruff.
Food was rarely enough.
Though I miss a big burger and hoppy beer,
business world skills are quite relevant here,
provided I get my lazy ass in gear.
This lock down is manageable.
Allotted toilet and table,
I’ve built a new life that’s stable.
My skills are valued inside,
now that I’ve diversified,
with no reason left to hide.
My lawyer thinks I am crazy,
which yields a definite maybe,
not knowing the meaning of free.
Shooting hoops in the AM,
not managing per diem,
and a rich nightly card game.
Why would I ever choose to leave,
this low stress corporate reprieve?
While holding an ace up my sleeve!
Perturbed Parolee
Bang goes the gavel!
So starts my trial.
An accidental act,
got me arrested.
With some legal tact,
charges are soon bested.
Bang goes the gavel!
The courtroom comes alive.
As an innocent man,
I should be acquitted.
A jury of my clan,
seems less committed.
Bang goes the gavel!
This result is unreal.
Clapped in irons,
I’m hauled away.
Missing companions,
for many a day.
Bang goes the gavel!
My life’s unraveled.
It really sucks in here,
unatoned and alone.
Sentence unjust,
I want a way home.
Bang goes the gavel,
I need a revival.
Prison life is hard.
I’m always upset.
The judicial review board,
is my only outlet.
Bang goes the gavel!
Isn’t this illegal?
I was feeling bold,
at first chance for parole,
until I was told,
this judge is an asshole.
Bang goes the gavel!
I should sue for libel.
Instead, I commit,
to amending my ways.
Often temped to quit,
I’m now back on the big stage.
Bang goes the gavel!
Justice for all.
A decade later,
on my best behavior,
a new arbitrator,
can be my savior.
Bang goes the gavel!
Here comes the real world.
Yet again, I’m denied.
This was my last try.
After bitter outcry,
I yield and comply.
Bang goes the gavel!
I will die in jail.
Greedy Guard
I’ve been on a power trip for decades,
even as my morality degrades,
my post continually grows.
My status has perpetually risen,
I’m now running this entire prison,
after vanquishing all foes.
Numerous transgressions over my career,
numerous challenges yet I’ve persevered,
this compound is my castle.
I take whatever I want,
I make enough to flaunt,
damn this job’s a hassle.
Lucrative bribes and conjugal visits,
devious commands and savvy pivots,
put my path in motion.
A young guard’s life is demanding,
though prospects are outstanding,
when culling competition.
With increasing viv and vigor,
plus an occasional pulled trigger,
I rose up the ranks.
Confidence was high,
especially as I got high,
from contraband holding tanks.
Iron fisted,
debatably twisted,
enforcement delivered hastily.
Singularly inclined,
over the course of time,
my reputation overtakes me.
Inevitably,
unfortunately,
my transgressions came home to roost.
Avoidable,
manageable,
if I wasn’t so obtuse.
Revenge in her cunning eyes,
an alluring minx in disguise,
she easily seduced me.
Anxious for lusty love,
from a white morning dove,
my actions were all too hasty.
Caught and convicted,
rapidly evicted,
from my plush head warden posting.
Dissed and disowned,
in clothes not my own,
I learn the concept of ghosting.
I used to control these halls,
now I stare at the walls,
afraid to catch any eyes.
My former colleagues despise me,
while fellow prisoners chide me,
both groups want me to die.
My sins have compounded,
wings clipped and grounded,
landing here in solitary.
Having thrown many a fellow,
into this dingy well, oh,
I never thought it would be so scary.
Now, I’m stuck in this hole,
mimicking a blind mole,
feeling around for any escape.
I’ve held many curmudgeons,
in this dark old dungeon,
some for just a menial mistake.
All hope now lost,
fully exhausted,
my heart's filled with dread.
The air stinks,
my morale sinks,
I’d rather be dead.
Departing DUI
It’s finally my chance, to get out of prison.
Long awaited,
why am I experiencing indecision?
Last time I held my daughter, she was an infant.
Much anticipated!
Recent pictures confirm, she’s my spitting image.
My one bag of possessions is neatly packed.
Future decided.
Confidence is high I’m never coming back.
Most of my day spent on lame paperwork.
Easily instigated,
I refrain from prodding the cranky clerk.
Now’s my chance to escape this hell hole,
if allowed?
I’m finally about to be let go.
I stare out the window with anticipation.
Once exited,
this mom’s committed to making family function.
There’s a dusty trail headed towards the jail.
I’m elated!
Granny’s beat-up pick-up, still missing its tail.
The approaching vehicle’s false, as are the next few.
Hours elapsed,
time to tell my selected saviors to go screw.
Looks like one more night, on my rock-hard cot.
Completely frustrated.
Duffel as a pillow, I don’t sleep a lot.
What happened on the road yesterday?
Plans belated,
thereby lengthening my current stay.
The following AM, I head to breakfast mess.
Not satiated,
I pick at the prison gruel with confused distress.
My morning continues to deteriorate.
Apparently manipulated,
I’m called to the office of the magistrate.
The cause of yesterday’s no-show soon becomes clear.
Signals ignored,
an SUV ran a red light, drunkard at the wheel.
Drinking without thinking,
though chided.
Steering without fearing.
My own illegal transgression, has come back to haunt me.
Memories flooded,
fate is too cruel for this crash to be an anomaly.
Three individuals pronounced dead at the scene.
Conversation disjointed,
my matriarchal lineage is wiped clean.
So excited to leave, and start a new life.
Now deflated,
I may not be ready for real-world strife.
Waning Warden
The jail halls echo with my steps.
My first day on the job,
I’m totally inept.
At just 22 years old,
little more than a child.
Flunking out of college.
Forced to acknowledge,
I suck at anything hard.
Deployed as a lowly guard.
The jail halls echo with my steps.
Surrounded by folks who rape and rob,
my nightly patrols must be adept.
After 1/3rd of a century,
still contemplating my life to be.
Though supposedly in charge,
risks here at work are large.
An army of inmates, who are all crazy.
Our security troop is a dozen, maybe.
The jail halls echo with my steps.
Along the way, I check every knob.
All are locked, ensuring safety kept.
42, my favorite number,
from young sports viewing remembered.
Working the night shift,
most games are now missed.
Prisoners often ask for scores,
but my knowledge is little more.
The jail halls echo with my steps.
My boss is an evil snob.
Vile and prone to contempt.
By late in my 5th decade,
career choices have been made.
Now in middle management,
I rarely meet our tenants.
Paperwork and policy,
command and consume me.
The jail halls echo with my steps.
The residents are slobs,
beds completely unkept.
The devil’s in the details,
as I reach my 66th year.
This lofty tenure value,
explains my poor attitude.
As I watch the turnover in our crew,
I start to wonder, who’s captive to who?
The jail halls echo with my steps.
Deftly jingling my watch fob,
a sign which I must accept.
Mandatory pension is due,
when I surpass 72.
Half a century of service,
always preserving justice.
It’s time to retire,
before I perspire.
The jail halls echo with my steps.
My last day on the job,
I’m totally inept.
A Common Refrain
S. G. Lacey
​
Basic Butcher
Primary bread winner,
I must provide dinner,
on our kitchen table,
to the best I’m able.
​
My wife’s the leader,
can’t live without her.
Does all the cooking.
Still damn good looking.
Every morning,
sun still forming,
I head to work,
in my old truck.
Before my twin girls,
the light of my world,
are even awake,
looking for pancakes.
My days are long.
My muscles strong.
Labor all day,
formed them this way.
My trade’s shifted,
often drifted.
Shaped by new skills,
and past-due bills.
My current post,
is somewhat gross.
Hacking up meat,
until petite.
Being head butcher,
builds much character.
With a diverse staff,
prone to frequent gaffs.
Several perks,
help fuel my work.
Deli meat scraps,
make fine lunch wraps.
Week-old protein,
by no means clean.
Home must be fed,
more than stale bread.
Finally, clocking out,
I rinse up and head out.
Expired pork shoulder,
slung over my shoulder.
Far from state-of-the-art,
my old pick-up won’t start.
Taking the local bus,
commute’s an hour plus.
Late, per usual.
The mood’s palpable.
Now on the table,
dinner’s just staples.
Repurposed chuck roast,
fattier than most.
We all eat quickly,
atmosphere prickly.
Though the food is bland,
it livens the clan.
Soon, we’re conversing,
details emerging.
Daughters are lovely,
tired and snuggly.
I put them to bed,
stories left unread.
Time for light of my life.
Laying with my lovely wife.
A few minutes of freedom,
with the queen of my kingdom.
While not a trained masseuse,
I put hands to good use.
Decades of handling flesh,
yields a mighty caress.
Dental Why’genist
Clad in scrubs of white,
and latex gloves.
Bright florescent light,
pours from above.
With deft moves,
tool placed underneath.
I quickly remove,
a pair of teeth.
​
Next patient’s a piece of work,
Definitely old and dirty.
Rotating brush makes quick work,
using paste that’s gritty.
Breath smells so shitty,
mouth covered in filth.
Nothing about them pretty,
these are truly ugly teeth.
Another routine cleaning,
same as the many prior.
This job is demeaning,
each day moving slower.
Metal pick and mirror,
above and beneath.
Please brush and floss more,
enabling healthy teeth.
Dynamics here at work,
have proven quite unique.
Though we all freely talk,
there are definite cliques.
Dentists, secretaries, and me,
all commanding a different fee.
Everyone at this boutique,
is simply aiming to fix teeth.
I like helping children,
innocent and naïve.
Tips on mouth hygiene,
they quickly believe.
Exam done, I retrieve,
colored brush in plastic sleeve.
This goodie bag when they leave,
promotes long-lasting good teeth.
Last task of the day,
a back molar filling.
Which will go quickly,
if X-rays aren’t lying.
As I fire up the drill,
my mark writhes underneath.
A visit less thrilling,
with better starting teeth.
​
Lengthy dental day done at last,
heading home for a shower and drink.
Happy to put this shift in the past,
my fatigued eyes can barely blink.
Washing up in the office sink,
check the mirror hands are underneath.
This reflection yields a smiling smirk,
composed of pearly white fake teeth.
​
Dumber Than A Plumber
A man of the trades,
draws nary a gaze,
going about business.
Yet, my important role,
is very critical,
when folks do their business.
​
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
These clients are insane.
A hack saw and some wrenches,
weathered soldering torches,
make up the tools of my trade.
While my tradecraft is strong,
having found where I belong,
physique continues to degrade.
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
Patience starting to wane.
My service rig is key,
to functionality,
with each stop quite different.
Cargo hold well equipped,
with fixtures and pipe clips,
my skills are excellent.
​
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
Being summoned again.
​
My profession is simple,
here’s a poignant example,
occurring just this past week.
Three smelly blocked toilets,
two new water inlets,
repairing countless leaks.
​
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
That’s a common refrain.
​
Some days are shitty,
literal shit, hey!,
no job is perfect.
Occasionally, I get pissed,
from the smell of rancid piss, duh!,
at least I’m not bile allergic.
​
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
My life’s hard to explain.
​
There’s no one dumber,
than a lame plumber,
so says common lore.
Always, give them a wide berth,
on account of hefty girth,
when striding through your front door.
​
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
It’s simple being plain.
​
Unclogging rusty pipes,
solving menial gripes,
just a day at the office.
If it ain’t quickly solved,
people’s patience dissolves,
physically accosted.
​
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
No removing that stain.
​
Productive day,
more water saved,
ready to head home.
All my tools packed,
materials stacked,
time to be alone.
​
Drip, drip, goes the damn drain.
From my work van’s drive train.
Bowling Boy
This bowling alley,
is pretty smelly.
Not just the restrooms,
reek of stale pee.
​
Clown shoes.
Cheap booze.
Menial rules,
still abused.
Birthday parties.
Crazy kiddies.
Excess sugar,
promotes loonies.
Rattling pins.
Yelling youngins.
This job requires,
hearing aids.
No electric scoring,
just pencil and paper writing.
The lack of basic math,
is quite disconcerting.
Sticky balls.
Big holes.
Aligns with many,
zany teenage goals.
Pimple-faced.
Put in my place,
by seniors,
is a real disgrace.
Cheap fried food.
Customers rude.
Bathroom actions,
sometimes lude.
Greasy wings.
Many fried things.
Despite cleaning,
Fryer oil clings.
Picking up clutter.
Emptying gutters.
Continuing to do work,
takes all I can muster.
The local league,
breeds intrigue.
This cast of characters,
is hard to believe.
Warm light beer.
Constant cheer.
I’m the only person,
not wanting to be here.
Stale popcorn.
Candy corn.
Steamed pretzels,
which look forlorn.
ATM cash.
Rolled coin stash.
Currency exchange,
easily arranged.
Disco night.
Strobe lights.
70’s tunes,
are alright.
Night falls.
Heavy balls,
must return,
to their stalls.
Returning shoes.
Chugging booze.
Asked to leave,
many refuse.
11:59.
Closing time.
My work is,
much maligned.
Slaving away,
for menial pay.
I’ll move on,
some future day.
This job stinks.
I need a drink,
and a quiet,
place to think.
​
Fryin’ Chick’n
Another order tak’n.
Another meal in the makin’.
​
Standin’ at the counter,
tryin’ not to flounder.
The line’s snakin’ out the door.
Manin’ the register,
obligation now registers,
as ‘ngry patron’s clamor.
Paperwork complete,
beginin’ this week,
I’m now a trainee.
My take-home pay math,
and pendin’ career path,
still are escap’n me.
First day ‘n the job,
I feel like a noob,
but every’ne needs to eat.
See’n society worst,
bellies about to burst,
ready to concede defeat.
Wear’n a new outfit,
includin’ a hat that don’t fit,
clearly out of my element.
In the past, oft’n fired.
Happy to be hired,
I’ll don any accoutrement.
My trainin’ is slow.
There’s a lot I don’t know,
about food preparin’.
Fillin’ up each container,
leaves nothin’ for later.
Need to work on portionin’.
Me runnin’ the register,
an unmitigated disaster,
as I can barely count.
Between cash ‘n cards,
receipts ‘n rewards,
I screw up every amount.
My next postin’,
drive-thru hostin’,
is a rite of passage.
Due to mumbled speech,
n’ a perpetual screech,
oft’n don’ get the message.
Here, chick’n is king.
Thigh, breast, and wing.
Provided, it’s fry’n.
Double bread the lot,
into oil that’s hot,
keeps them comin’.
The walk-in freezer is cold,
full of ingredients ‘ntold,
‘n quantities absurd.
With numbered ID stickers,
not avian monikers,
how can I fin’ the right bird?
At home I’m a slob,
but apparen’ly this job,
requires cleanliness.
Bein’ slow and lazy,
with menial duties,
I could really care less.
Preppin’ and choppin’.
Scrubbin’ and moppin’.
My day is finally complete.
Wishin’ coworkers good luck,
I climb into my truck,
with bagged leftovers to eat.
Another order tak’n.
Another meal in the makin’.