Issue Thirty-One - Winter 2018

Prepaid Calls

By Sarah Jones

You have a prepaid call from AR4272,
a cattle-branded criminal in SLO, California;
a boy: sleepy grin, eating scrambled eggs at your mother’s table.

To accept this boy say or dial 5 now.
To be California, hold an ear tag applicator to his head.
You have a prepaid call from AR4272.

Your low account balance indicates your relationship
to an inmate who’s had a state-issued hot iron scald his forehead.
A boy: arm twisted, face pressed into your mother’s carpet, men laughing.

Billing rates for this call are ruler-swats to your wrists
and steel-toe bashes to the inmate’s head.
You have a prepaid call from AR4272.

This call between you and your Irish twin will be monitored & recorded.
Inside a Petri dish, your shit will be poked by some panopticonic bot.
A boy: hurled into a sliding glass door, bruises and endless tremors.

To refuse this boy, hang him up.
Stuff him into a box labeled—
you have a prepaid call from AR4272;
a brother: shirtless, sleepy grin, eating eggs with you.

Copyright 2018 Jones

Sarah Jones is a poet and freelance writer living in Seattle. Before joining the Poetry Northwest staff, Sarah was an editorial intern with C&R Press and an assistant poetry editor of Lunch Ticket and Soundings Review. Sarah received her MFA in Poetry from Antioch University, Los Angeles. Her work has been featured on NPR and The Bridge. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Entropy magazine, The Normal School, New Ohio Review, The Raven Chronicles, American Literary Review, Yes, Poetry, and many other places. Dancing girl press & studio will publish Sarah’s first chapbook in April 2018. You can find her at www.sarahjonespoet.com | Twitter: @writer_sejones |Instagram: @writer.sejones.

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