The volunteer

My name is young Michael,
Five score and four,
With a bundle of children,
Three boys, plus one more.

I hail from all Ireland,
With parents from Clare,
I like to write Limericks,
They both were from there.

I been moving around,
For much of my life,
It keeps me from landing,
Oh yes, And my wife.

The reason I’m here,
Is Woody and Chuck,
Said Mike come to prison,
On Wednesday’s enough.

We’ll talk about drugs and fathers,
And other such stuff,
Plus show you some movies,
How life can be tough.

Well, how could I say,
An emphatic No,
It would not be rational,
Or triggered or so.

So here I am Wednesday,
From seven to nine.
Waiting for movement,
At quarter till nine.

Now, Mike can’t you say,
Well, why you are here,
Well boys, it’s my son,
And great atmosphere.

He dealt drugs, and took them,
Till he was caught,
By blue boys in fast cars,
And they locked him up.

So sad was I visiting,
He there in all gray.
That uniform really should be,
Changed out one fine day.

Anyway, he got out and worked hard,
And made a new life.
So I’m here instead,
In prison, one night.

Oh, yes did I mention,
A Christian I am,
So be nice to Artie,
Cause he is my man.

So, I’m hear to listen,
And share time with you,
Not watching the movies,
Or some other gumshoe.

I’ll stay in this corner,
And occasionally burst,
From silence to chatter,
Or maybe a verse.

Inspired by the Fathers Group and Smart Recovery programs at MCI Shirley Prison
Copyright Michael J. Cunningham

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