Dead Man Walking

I used to write to a man on death row. I started writing to him when I was a junior in college, and I wrote to him every few months for about four years. His name is Vernon. While I was in college, I had the opportunity to visit the jail where he is incarcerated. I wrote this in 2005 after a visit to the prison.

401 East Madison St.

From the smooth, cool, brown leather of the sofa

I hear the buzz of the coke machine, Circa 1975

I’m sitting in a waiting room that could be in

Any hospital, anywhere

But this waiting room, this anywhere,

Is a somewhere so unique

This is where the children and

The mothers and the lovers

Of the condemned sit and wait

To hear a name called.

Then they rise,

Children excited because they don’t understand,

Women dressed to the nines:

“Man these shoes hurt” and “Is my lipstick on straight?”

Primped and prepped for their tête-à-tête;

Half an hour with their very own

Dead man walking.

I see them come in and go out, through

The door that stands between the living

And the living dead;

There above the door, a sign that seems

To be mocking them, saying

“You made a difference.”

What do you think? Any tips/feedback on the writing are greatly appreciated!