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"Sure I did it

But they can't prove it," he said

From the bunk beside mine.

We were locked into a bay

With forty some odd inmates

At Pickaway correctional institution

Just south of central Ohio.

Most of the guys were from

Cincinnati

But I never learned where Biscuit was from.

What I learned about your average inmate is this:

They're poor.  They're uneducated but not dumb.

They're in for drugs in some way

(Using, selling, robbing, stealing, or killing over drugs,)

And most likely they're mentally ill.

They're also primarily black but that's another story.

After a month of bunking next to Biscuit

I got the impression that he had robbed banks

Just to be a success to his mother.

He would talk about lavishing gifts

On his girls, and his family,

While he was robbing banks.

He even pulled his brother in on the action;

His younger brother who would do anything

That Biscuit said was a good idea.

With his prison issued glasses on

He looked a lot like Erkle

From the ninety's sit com

And soon I got guys calling him that.

I never said it to his face

But the name calling did stem from me.

There was also "Big dumb," and "Casper

The neo-Nazi ghost,"

And "Man-face" the C.O.,

Who had a great body but her face

Was like that of a man's.

Biscuit pulled out a book

And opened it up.

There were press clippings inside

And he read all of the press clippings

From all of the banks he had robbed.

"They could never catch me," he said

After reading the headlines.

"I have money stashed away

All over the place on the outside."

"I guess you were a big player on the

Outisde, huh, Biscuit?" I said.

"Don't get it twisted," he replied.

Biscuit always loved to say this

Just like "Salty" was always salty about something.

"Sure I did it but they can't prove it," he said

With a wry grin on his face.

Biscuit had every triple crown book

They had ever printed,

And he rented them out

Like he was a one man library.

Basically triple crown books

Are books ex-con's write

About life in the crime world.

Nearly every one, near as I can tell,

Is about a heroine from the mean streerts

Who murders and backstabs her way

To the top of a drug cartel.

Biscuit liked to read passages

From these books out loud to everyone

Within earshot, and though they were never

Exactly Shakespeare, at least they took

His mind off of life in prison for a while.

And the King magazines,

Each one with a girl with a dog ugly face

And a great body with her ass pointed

Toward the camera and her face looking back

Would just make you sick,

But I learned to appreciate them.

Even the C.O.'s were extra nice

To Biscuit.  I think it was because

They knew how much time he was doing.

The law doesn't mess around when

It comes to robbing banks.

But Biscuit was up on appeal

And he had every confidence

That he would be sent home

Very soon.

Then one night Biscuit got a letter in the mail.

It was a letter from his lawyer

Informing him that his last appeal

Had just been rejected, and he

Would have to serve the life sentence

They had handed down to him

For robbing all those banks.

The thing of it was, after getting

His brother involved and going to prison,

His mother wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Biscuit never got letters from the outside.

I guess you call that making momma proud.

And the next week Biscuit lost his mind

And started yellling about pedophiles

And blocked off the bay.

They sent him to the RTU.

I never saw Biscuit again,

But I do remember him.

I still feel bad for his mother.