The Mushroom

His features typically dour, Peter
seemed transfigured today when
he returned from wherever. 
He was giddy, like  a person after

sex, “I just came
from visiting the orthopedist at
an outside hospital.  She said
my herniated discs are squeeze-

ing against my sciatic nerve.  It’s
excruciating, and I need surgery.
But guess what?”  I shrugged.
“On the way back, they opened

the window a little.
I pressed my face into the gap
the whole time.”  I noticed red
parallel welts tracked up his chin,

lips, and cheeks – two inches
apart. Even a transport car’s air
is restrictive.  As an extension of
prison, it’s a portable cell with

an incarcerated atmosphere:
A death row prisoner cramped in
back, bound in full-restraints –
handcuffs, ankle-shackles; waist

chains connecting them – behind
a stab-proof stainless steel cage
protecting armed guards up front.
Evidently, the line dividing freedom

from imprisonment is thinner than
a thought.  Even now his face is
pressed against that two-inch gap,
                        mushrooming out,

tongue flapping happily in wind. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  George Wilkerson lives on Death Row. He is a talented writer with a unique style, and a solid commitment to his craft. He is an occasional contributor to WITS, a co-author of Crimson Letters, an eye-opening book released in 2020, sharing the voices of those living on North Carolina’s Death Row, and his writing can be found on several other platforms. We always enjoy hearing from him.

Mr. Wilkerson can be contacted at:
George T. Wilkerson #0900281
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285


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