My attempt at the catalog.
Base by Ben McClain
Ryan wears fitted hats, pressed bills. Covering his clumps of twisted hair,
like tarp does hay during a winter draft.
He never ties his shoes, Or ritually cleans.
But he doesn’t disappoint during the big times,
like paying the warden His due.
Calvin rarely matches.
His room is cluttered with relics of our affairs with the ‘civilians’ around us,
Little Things like shopping carts and stop sighs and bottles and bottles of
He forgets, the time, the day and sometimes the seasons change,
But he never forgets the important,
Like encouragement and the Courage.
Austin(the girl) has never cleaned a dish.
She bitterly protests the presents of our Gas
And constantly blows out the pilot light making pungent noodles.
But she listens when I complain
And understands my way.
I live with the underground and
It’s a suit that fits my weary bones as I sleep in peace,
on a foundation of pressed loyalty.