Monday's Prison Visit

How to describe this place? To start with, "K-chakk, clack," the sound of a door being unlocked and then pushed open. Big, strong, electronic locks, always operated remotely by an unseen gatekeeper. One in the lobby where you check in, a short trip across a manicured lawn, another heavy click, another door, mail room, activity room, kitchen, click clack, a vestibule, click clack, a sweep of emerald grass and slow-fire mountains in fall colors, a trio of squat gray double-cubes in between. How many doors in between "us" and "them?" How many doors between prisoners and public? How many locks between you and your loved ones? Ka-chack, clack. One step further. Ka-chack, clack. Barracks. Ka-chack, clack. Classroom. Ka-chack, clack. Gray hallway, sickly fluorescent lights. Ka-chack, clack. Yard, canteen. At five cents an hour, a Snicker's bar might be a week's earnings. Ka-chack, clack. Five dollars, no big deal, you say? A hundred hours at prison pay. Ka-chack, clack. Y'all come back.