The bars insist
they don’t belong
in prison. We’re not
even bars, they say.
We’re stripes pried
from a zebra’s back.
No one listens—not
the guards and not
petitions. No one
listens until a number
comes along insisting
he’s a man, and
without a crop or
saddle, on seven
stripes rides off.
from EverythingFind more by Andrea Cohen at the library
Copyright © 2021 Andrea Cohen
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.