the last ten steps, over some leaves

in a place without seasons, beyond the rod-iron gate, one mile and ten paces left, the prison sits quietly on downstream haunches.
there are no license plates stamped in max.
if I could insect my way in I would roam the panopticon halls, sniffing for graphite scribed lists titled "should have" and "shouldn't have".

should: write Rachel a letter, learn to swim, start a memoir, request photos of my dog, know what pineapple smells like, be able to remember outside.

shouldn't: have stopped, have been caught, told that story, answer questions that begin with "why", given Reggie my keys.